


It's Science if You Write it Down

by MissTeaVee



Series: Mimicry [3]
Category: Among Us (Video Game)
Genre: Cyan hides in the vents to avoid awkward conversations, F/M, I can’t believe this is the first kinky porn I’ve written involving a woman, I suppose Technically so is Cyan, Imposter Cyan is ride or die for his crew, Imposters are mimics not parasites, M/M, Multi, Other, Oviposition, Peaceful Imposter-crew relations on this ship, Tentacles, White is at the Acceptance stage of So You’ve Realized You’re A Monsterfucker, Xenophilia, alien anatomy all over the place., brief death and violence but it’s okay because they were assholes, consentual oviposition, examination kink, fuck MIRA corperation amirite, probably a couple others on the crew are too
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-12
Updated: 2020-11-24
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:48:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 21,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26974687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissTeaVee/pseuds/MissTeaVee
Summary: Okay so you've made peace with the Predatory Alien amongst your crew and you have many boring months in space to waste time in... what do?Inspired by some gorgeous twitter art, have a few shenanegains and some porn.
Relationships: Crewmate/Impostor (Among Us), Imposter Cyan/Purple, Imposter Cyan/Red, Imposter Cyan/White, Imposter/Crewmate(s)
Series: Mimicry [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2000221
Comments: 194
Kudos: 902





	1. After a year in space, murder really spices things up

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Steamworthy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Steamworthy/gifts), [Shhnikeys (Schnikeys)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Schnikeys/gifts).



> Inspiration:
> 
> [Photoset 1](https://twitter.com/steamwhistle69/status/1308193547573694465)  
> [Photoset 2](https://twitter.com/steamwhistle69/status/1309267282619764736)  
> [Photoset 3](https://twitter.com/steamwhistle69/status/1311819921555423233)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so. I waffled on posting this anon or not. but you know what? I've been lowkey a monsterfucker for years, lets just post this shit.
> 
> Completely inspired by Steamwhistle on twitter, as well as Shhnikeys here. You'll notice a couple of Shhnikey's ideas directly and lovingly lifted from their fic "You cut lights, that's sus bro."
> 
> For reference, I don’t REALLY think the crew are humans, but they’re humanoid and more or less human analog where it counts.  
> Imposters are Anthropomorphic Cuttlefish/mimic octopus aliens, change my mind.
> 
> Chapter 1 is just showing how Cyan generally fits in, Chapter 2 is gonna be porn. No idea how many chapters there actually will be, but I'm thinking 4-5, and at least one more will be all porn.

“How are you holding up?”

“This is not how I was expecting this debrief to go...”

“You just dealt with quite a situation. I know it turned out well due to the… eh.. victim that Hazel and Maroon chose, but your report says he’s still in recovery…”

White sighs, leaning back in the chair by the secure comms unit. Shiny, new, and completely unconnected with MIRA™ proprietary hardware. “I’m alright. He’ll be alright. No one else was harmed. That’s what matters.”

A nod on the other end, Cerulean tapping his fingers together. “How is he?”

White smiles to herself, hearing the concern in her contact’s voice. It makes her happy to know that there’s more than just their crew comfortable with the Ship’s little secret, and very safely so. She signed on with MIRA Corporation because she wanted to learn more about the universe, and she certainly is. She never thought corporate espionage would be part of the learning curve, but finding out your employer was waging a low key war against an alien species on said species’ own planet, and said species was understandably upset about that? Well.

“Something’s bothering me about the whole thing,” she says, interrupting her own train of thought. “Those two were well regarded, heroes, even. But there’s no way no one’s found their behaviour… suspicious before now. They’ve killed people!”

Cerulean shrugs. “MIRA corp doesn’t like that the governing bodies suddenly locked down your research station and is having all the reports and security routed past them. They know something’s up, they just don’t know what yet. Maybe they were hoping putting in a couple dangerous elements would break up crew unity and they’d get an in back on station.”

White shakes her head. “Anything missing from my report?”

“No. Give my best wishes to Cyan for a speedy recovery and that he should thank whatever higher power he believes in for how it all played out.”

“Yeah, no kidding.”

* * *

It started with two new crew members being dropped in by MIRA, the company claiming that the new security routines that they had to adhere to on the Skeld had to put too much pressure on the average sized crew, and additional support would do them good. The fact that MIRA didn’t know why said security routines had been put in place as the crew had a gag order from discussing it with their own employer until some messy legal stuff was worked out made everyone slightly on edge about their newest additions.

But Hazel and Maroon had settled in alright. Polite, if a bit full of themselves and their reputations. They were fine, really, if you asked anyone on the crew. Except Cyan. Cyan had locked himself in medbay with White and Purple and declared that these newcomers were dangerous.

_“Cyan…” Purple had started after a long sigh. “I know you’re scared but-”_

_“No, it’s not that- it’s…” he’d fallen silent, trailing off into a little trill, as if he didn’t know what words to use. “I don’t like them.”_

_“Well, we’re certainly not letting them get too close a look at you until we’re sure they’re not MIRA flunkies, it’s going to be okay, Cyan,” White had promised. Cyan had looked between her and Purple, then slumped, nodding quietly._

He always took whatever either of them said at face value, always trusted their word. White feels a little guilty at that thought as she spins around in her seat to see Cyan still curled up on the examination bunk where she’d left him. Still out like a light, that’s good. Red is inspecting the stitches White did on the wound.

“I do hope it heals up completely, it’d look strange if it seemed like he was wearing a stained enviro-suit all the time,” Red comments.

White nods silently, looking over Cyan and glad that he still trusts enough to accept a mild sedative. “I’m sure he’ll find a way to conceal it.”

He is, after all, very good at blending in. Sweet, friendly, and hardworking.

Which was why those looking to create dissension in the ranks had targeted him.

* * *

_It was dumb luck, pure and simple. Pink had been on Yellow’s case about letting him install more security cameras, stating that sure, just because_ that one _was friendly didn’t mean there wasn’t possibility of further breach. Plus, with MIRA Corp snooping around, the more cameras, the better right? Especially since some of the small pets on board had recently taken to exploring the vents._

_In the security room, Pink was happily extolling how great the new cams were, they had infrared vision, so they’d work in the event of a blackout, they were a minimal drain on power, they were hidden well in the room so they couldn’t be seen. Yellow, who was the unfortunate recipient of said lecture nodded along agreeably even as she wrote up the memo to all crew about the new cameras. Brown, actually watching the cameras was the one to catch the moment._

_Cyan had been in electrical, sweeping up the endless dust that could accumulate in a little-used room when the two newest members of the crew had walked in. He’d paused, looking up at them, then stepping away from the usual work stations politely, continuing to sweep, even if his shoulders tensed. The new cameras had tracked him slowly skirting around Maroon as the newcomers spoke to one another and turned as if to include Cyan in the conversation._

_“Hey! Hazel has a knife-” Brown had started, causing Yellow and Pink to launch over to the security console to look. The trio witnessed Cyan backing away from an enthusiastic shove by Maroon, which seemed friendly, but then Cyan was turning to look at Hazel and the knife was plunged through that pale blue chest. “Oh my god!”_

_Cyan stumbled back and fell to the floor in shock. His assailants must have assumed him dead, because Maroon patted Hazel’s shoulder in a congratulatory manner, clearly indicating a job well done. Yellow fumbled for the audio switch while ordering Pink to run and hit the emergency gathering summons, and she was just in time to hear the end of a sentence through the security input._

_“-On Purple. Big stoic guy, perfect person to blame. Then when his body comes back negative for Parasite, they’ll go insane trying to figure it out and rip each other to shreds to find the Impostor,” Maroon was saying. “Hurry up and grab the knife-”_

_“Not a parasite,” had hissed a voice, cold and deadly. Both assailants turned around to find Cyan standing, knife still in his chest, his blood a yellow ooze. “I’m a predatory mimic.”_

_Their screams had echoed through the ship._

_In the end, it was all too easy to blame the Impostor-killed Maroon on Hazel, and send the still living man to his death in space. He’d been prepared to commit murder, and the recording of him and Maroon talking after they’d assumed Cyan dead indicated that they’d killed people before in other ships, and blamed it on Impostors. It wasn’t a pretty solution, but it worked, and it handled everything neatly enough that no one on the outside could ask too many suspicious questions..._

* * *

White sighs, lifting her head as the medbay door opens, but it’s just Purple. He crosses the floor to check on Cyan, gently adjusting the Impostor’s arm. “His condition hasn’t changed.”

“Yes, I know,” Purple says. “I was just… thinking.”

“Hmm?”

“He still looks like a guy in a suit even though he’s out of his mind on sedatives right now.”

“Mhmm…” White nods. “Take your gloves off, feel his hand.”

Purple pauses, then does as told. White watches his dark hands gently brush over Cyan’s fingers before stroking the back of the Impostor’s arm. “It feels…. Like soft leather.”

“He’s not mimicking an enviro-suit perfectly anymore, there’s teeth hiding just under the skin at his joints too,” White says. She’d noted it while checking Cyan’s vitals. She knows his normal readings, fortunately. Purple nods, but makes no attempt to check. White is the head medic, if she checked Cyan over for further injury, that’s her prerogative, but anything beyond that is to be saved for when their friend is conscious and capable of consenting to it. Not that White hasn’t glanced thoughtfully at the scanner once or twice.

It’d be so easy to just haul Cyan over to it and hit Start…

But she won’t. Cyan’s terrified of the damn thing. At first she’d assumed it was fear of being properly recognized for what he is, but at this point, everyone in the crew knows he’s an Impostor. They also know more about certain parts of his anatomy than he might be happy about, but he takes it all in stride. He’s always willing to answer a question asked about his physiology, and the greater his vocabulary grows, adapting to complex scientific and medical jargon, the more he’s able to explain. But that scanner… he won’t go near the thing.

Considering his physiological reaction the one time to an ultrasound, White’s starting to suspect he’s just worried that the scans will hurt, or maybe be a little too intense. Or maybe he knows it will, what does White know about that?

She _does_ know Cyan’s heat is overdue by two weeks, which is a weird thing to take note of, but one, she’s his _medic_ , and two, he’s been like clockwork for the last few months; a heat every forty eight to fifty three days, lasting two to three days. But he was due for one a week and a half ago, and he hasn’t tried hiding in an empty storage closet again, nor splaying out dramatically on the exam bed that’s basically become his sleeping space.

Well, considering that heats are a symptom of him feeling safe and comfortable, she supposes she can’t blame him that he’s been too stressed out lately. Goodness knows, the source of his stress did in fact try to kill him. While thinking he was a normal crewmember!

Gods.

She watches as Purple pulls the thin blanket on the cot over Cyan a bit more securely, then turns back to her samples.

\---

She hears the softest thump and turns to look, tilting her helmeted head and smiling to see Cyan standing. He’s touching his hands gently over the stitched wound, which would appear to be nothing but a mended enviro-suit to the unknowing. Cyan brushes his hands over himself, clearly taking stock, then lifting his head, and White dials down the opacity of her visor a little to smile at him. He hunches up his shoulders as if shy and tilts his head to indicate a small smile.

“I’m glad you’re up,” she tells him. “Does it hurt?”

“It’s alright,” He says. “I’ll be gentle with it.”

“I wanted to scan you to see if it was near any organs,” she tells him, causing his shoulders to hunch up further. “But I know you hate that thing, so I used the handheld diagnostics and examined the wound digitally.”

“Thank you,” he chirps, coming to stand beside her as she turns back to the console. She types away for a long moment, not minding the hovering. Finally he speaks again. “I’m sorry for… for Maroon...”

She lets out a long sigh. “Well, they tried to kill you first.”

“They were going to blame killing me on Purple, they wanted everyone here to mistrust each other,” his voice drops, a hiss under his words. White looks up at him. She still automatically seeks out the visor when wanting to make eye contact, despite knowing that his eyes are actually what appear to be lights on the side of a crewman’s helmet. The Helmet is mostly his own mimicry, but the visor’s real. “I was… scared and angry.”

“I don’t blame you for it,” she tells him. “Cerulean sends his well wishes, too.”

“Thanks,” Cyan says, and then he plops down to the floor beside White’s chair, legs crossed. She smiles inwardly at that, and reaches over to put a hand on his shoulder. “What are you doing?”

“I took some notes on that egg you gave me, only just got to typing them up,” she answers.

“Oh… that wasn’t very uhm… fresh.”

She chuckles. “I know. I might steal another one from you next time you have a heat.”

She glances over, amused to see the chest of his suit slowly turning a shade somewhere between his usual one and Purple’s own suit. A blushing Impostor; way cuter than it should be. She turns back to her notes, pulling up the sketches she did and inserting them into the document.

Cyan mumbles something and she pauses her typing without looking over.

“Say again?”

“Won’t have to steal one if we’re still planning t-” he trails off into mumbles again. White feels her face heat at the reminder. Ah yes, reason three why she’d noticed that there’d been no heat on his regular schedule. She hadn’t forgotten, per se, of that planned, ah, _experiment,_ but recent events have pushed it out of her mind. She clears her throat and turns to look at him to ask if he’s still comfortable with the whole concept, but he’s gone.

The vent cover in the room’s corner clatters shut, and White huffs to herself in amusement.

\--

“I can’t believe you read a thesaurus for fun.”

“I have literally memorized all my books at this point and I’m so bored that this is new.”

“Good to know we’re all going stir crazy, then,” Black puts their hands to the top of thier visor as if that could help the headache. “Couple of the critters have vanished.”

“Aw damn it,” Yellow sighs, setting aside her book. “Vents again?”

“I can only assume.”

Yellow pushes to her feet and walks to the nearest vent, opening it and leaning over to yell in it. “Cyan! Couple of the pets are missing!”

“Okaay!” echoes back after a moment. Yellow shakes her head and closes the vent cover.

“When did we decide we’re okay with an Impostor petsitting again?” Black asks, though their voice is tinged with amusement. Yellow spreads her hands in an expansive shrug.

“About the time we realized he’s the only one who can retrieve the damn animals when they start roaming?”

There’s a clatter from the vent, and they both look in time to see two little beasts pushed gently out of a vent. Cyan pops out behind them, looking pefectly normal as he emerges, despite the fact it’s absolutely impossible for a full-sized adult to squish into those vents in their enviro-suits.

“Thank you,” Black sighs, putting their hands on their hips to scold the two pups. They cringe and whine apologetically, but there’s no way the little things are done adventuring yet.

Yellow watches Black herding the animals with an ironic smile, glancing at Cyan who is absently brushing dust off himself. She snickers. “We should wrap you in dust rags and send you back into the vents.”

Cyan sneezes, causing his visor to hinge open as several little tentacles flare out momentarily. Yellow laughs because she isn’t sure how else to react to the sight. Cyan makes a loud sniffing noise as if put out, and Yellow laughs all the harder.


	2. Behind Sealed Doors

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Porn!!
> 
> You gotta keep your potential breeders happy <3

_Adding Reagent… please standby._

White sighs, tapping her fingers on the console. Samples. Endless Samples. Normally she’d just let the machine run, do some of her other tasks, and come back when her timer said she’d need to come back and analyze the results. Alas, today is Sample Day, and she has a lot to go through. Once she gets her first batch of results in, at least she can focus on those while the next batch runs.

Purple is down in engineering, helping Blue and Green with a faulty switch that’s been causing power fluctuations, so she doesn’t even have company.

She glances at the readout to see how long this sample will take the machine to finish with and sighs. Twenty minutes. Maybe she’ll go read a book.

Medbay doors being open means anyone can come and go as they please, so she’s not too surprised to hear a polite rap on the door frame. She looks over and nods at Cyan. “Hey, what’s up?”

“Yellow told me that I mopped enough for one day,” he shrugs. “Purple said it’s sample day so I thought you’d be bored.”

“Sure am,” White sighs. “You’re more than welcome to be a distraction.”

“Heh,” He steps into medbay, then pauses at the door, shifting his weight a moment, reaching for the switch to close it, then pauses, glancing back at her. “How much of a distraction?”

_Oh._

_Well._

“Shut the door and we can talk,” she answers after a moment’s thought. He does, walking over to ‘his’ exam bed and perching there. White glances at the computer readout - 17 minutes- and then turns to look at Cyan, giving him a smile through her reduced-opacity visor. “What were you thinking about?”

“Aaaaaaah well you know how we were uhm… talking. About the… _thing_ you wanted to do my next heat?”

His voice tends to lose the tonal quality that makes it sound like it’s coming from a helmet speaker when he’s nervous. It’s not super noticeable through the audio input and speaker within her own helmet, but Red remarked on it once, and now White pays attention to that tell. She hums, nodding.

“Yes. I understand if you changed your mind about it though. You’ve been really tolerant about being examined and handled as a scientific novelty. I mean I know that it’d be a lot less clinical compared to the exams we’ve done, even if those weren’t exactly full on-”

“No, it’s uhm… ah… uhm..” Cyan’s suit fades a little mauve, starting just below the apparent neck seal down to his mid chest. “You know what you’re working with when it comes to me, but… I only know about you from reading the anatomy books in here. I don’t wanna hurt you cause I don’t know what I’m doing when I’m frantic to mate…”

“Ah, yeah, that’s fair,” she says slowly. Frantic is a good word for it, he’s himself and has his faculties, but he wants to either be left alone to deal with it himself, or have trusted hands in places that most people would be wary to put them. Which… yeah. Okay, Cyan’s right. They need to have this discussion if they’re going to test the theory that was put forward. “So, my turn on the table, huh?”

“You can... If you want to keep working on your samples you can stay there?” He asks, fidgeting a little. White shrugs at that, a small smirk forming under her helmet.

“Alright, who's been showing you porn?”

“Wha- no one!”

“Cyan.”

“No one, but Red forgot to sign out of the wifi terminal and I found what he was watching-”

White bursts out laughing before she can stop herself. Cyan clasps his hands together and looks away, clearly embarrassed. White waves her hands while trying to compose herself. “No-haha- no it’s fine, it’s just… haaaa- really funny. Also please don’t do the thing they do in a lot of porn and just shove your ‘pos right in. That hurts enough with a regular penis.”

“Oh! Uh, I didn’t see that in it,” Cyan says tilting his head. “I uh… she was working and the other was on their knees trying to… distract her?”

White blinks at the Imposter for a long moment, and then unseals her envirosuit, pushing the bottoms down around her thighs until they catch up on her boots. “You know what. We’re doing it your way. I’m not saying no if you want to try to learn how to perform oral sex.”

Cyan nods and gives a little thumbs up gesture, apparently incapable of speech all of a sudden. White doubts he’s overwhelmed by the sight of her naked lower half, but maybe the challenge is getting to him. She turns back to her console and sighs to see that there’s still thirteen minutes left on the first round of analysis. Well, at least the rest of the analysis should be more interesting.

A soft noise behind her has her glance around to see Cyan kneeling behind her. She starts to turn around to face him, but he puts his hands on her hips to keep her ass to him.

“Don’t look?” He asks shyly. White blinks to herself at that, but nods, bracing against the console and spreading her legs. She’s caught a glimpse of his face… well… mouth once or twice. Lots of tentacles and teeth. Yeah, that could maybe ruin the mood to look at, though she’s found herself kind of excited looking at fanged genitals and a three foot long ovipositor enough that she’s agreed to let that huge tube up into her so really would his face be enough to-

Cyan’s hands are on her ass, and she feels his thumbs spreading her labia a little, clearly investigating. His touch is light, but when she shifts her legs a little further apart and adjusts her hands on the console to reduce the risk of hitting a button by accident, he makes a humming sound.

“You smell nice,” he says. White huffs a small chuckle at it, trying not to vibrate with anticipation. Then the most delicate sensation brushes along the length of her slit, and she exhales softly, wanting firmer attention. She drops her head, and catches sight of a long red-orange tendril, just visible past the apex of her thighs, and she watches until his tongue finds her clit. She can’t help the little ‘mmm’ of pleasure she lets out.

“This is… your clitoris, right?”

“Mm-Yeah, that’s a clit,” she wonders how the hell he spoke clearly when his damn tongue is still curling around her clit, exploring the little nub thoroughly. She can feel him adjusting his position by the way his hands shift on her bare skin, and drops her head to look down between her legs. She can just see one of his thighs, and the other boot from this angle. Not to mention that long, thin tongue that uncoils from her clit to pull back along her slit. He pauses to investigate her urethra, but she makes a little grunt and his tongue pulls away before she can verbally warn him away from investigating there. Instead, his tongue dips into her and she shifts a little, making a small noise. “Nnn… not too much at once, wait until I’m starting to get wet and my kegels relax a bit before you start trying to stretch me too much.”

He makes a noise to indicate understanding the instruction, and shifts his hands down her thighs. It takes White a moment to realize what she’s feeling as tendrils brush her backside then slide up over her hip bones, inside her thighs and down around her quads.

Tentacles, right. _Oh fuck._ This was a terrible idea and she has absolutely no regrets. She peeks, and she can see a tentacle shifting over her hip, obviously looking for a grip that won’t press the needle-sharp teeth at the end against her skin. She holds still, letting Cyan figure out the placement without interference. Glancing over to her other side and it’s about the same, though this tentacle is flexing inwards towards her belly instead of following the curve of her hip. There’s two just peeking through the creases where her thighs meet her body. Cyan makes a noise she’s learned to interpret as _happy,_ and White feels the grip on her hips tighten, even as his hands rub up and down the inside of her thighs. Then his tongue is back, tracing along her outer labia and then dipping inwards a little.

Tongues, _plural._ Her brain can’t conjure up the required expletive this time as she’s spread open. Her clit is curled around and delicately tugged even as pressure slides between her labia, and she gasps, curling over the console, her gloved fingers scraping over the unyielding metal. Cyan is taking his sweet time exploring every crease and fold of her skin, only teasing at her vulva occasionally. Staying fully kitted is seeming like a terrible idea already; she can feel sweat beading on her forehead and sliding down her chest, and it only gets worse the more thorough Cyan is.

Too late now. She arches with a little moan, feeling curious strokes dipping between her inner labia, the slick appentage exploring deeper and finding White’s own wetness. Cyan makes a sound that might be a purr, and it vibrates through the tongues exploring White’s skin.

“Fuck!” she yelps, pushing back against the Imposter. He makes a surprised noise, the tentacles holding her hips briefly tightening on her before loosening up just enough that her movements don’t put her at risk from his teeth. His hands move from stroking the inside of her legs to bracing against the backs of her thighs. Something to _push_ against, thank god. “Ah- do that again!”

Cyan obliges, purring loudly enough that she can hear him over her own breaths, even as they get shorter and sharper as he finally thrusts a tongue into her. And then another, and there’s still one tugging at her clit and this is incredibly unfair, why can’t everyone have that many tongues!!? He lets out a questioning hum, the squirming motion in her cunt and around her clit driving White absolutely insane. If you told her a year ago that she’d happily put herself in a vulnerable position with an alien she’d have laughed at you.

“Don’t stop- fffu- _ohmygod!_ Yes~ Right ther- _ah!”_

She shifts her hands on the console, left hand sliding over a few buttons. It distracts her momentarily but the console is still locked down as the samples are still being centrifuged. _Oh hey, six and a half minutes left._

There’s an obscenely wet noise from between her legs, paired with another slick and prehensile appendage caressing between her thighs and it neatly brings her attention back. It’s not a tongue, it’s not a toothed tentacle; it has a squishy, pointed head she can feel brushing over her pubic mound, and despite it all, the Xenobiologist in White _really_ wants to get a look at it. She bites her lip, focusing on the texture as Cyan uses it to tease against her skin. Soft nubs over a hard core, and the point at the very tip is soft and probing, but when it makes contact with her clit, the tip firms up, feeling not-quite-sharp and inscribing circles around her clit as his tongue pulls back to join the other two(?), three(?) tongues already feeling up her inner walls.

It’s so very hard to think right now, but White is incredibly curious. Are what she’s been considering tongues just more tentacles? Is _that_ his tongue? Is it something else? Wait, it’s very muscular under the head, it couldn’t be his harpoon, could it? She’s seen that exactly twice; once when he used it to snag a cupcake off a table in the cafeteria from about ten feet away and the other time when Maroon… okay redirecting thoughts away from that.

...Damnit, okay, where’s Purple when she needs him for taking notes?

The presumed harpoon keeps rubbing over her clit as Cyan’s various tongues lap up the slick of her arousal. White’s gasping and rocking her hips involuntarily, unashamed of the little moans and whimpers she’s making as Cyan focuses his efforts on pleasuring her. One hand automatically comes up to her chest, but her envirosuit is in the way, so she plops her hand back down for balance. The little nubs on the fleshy head of the harpoon have firmed up along with the rest of the head, and they tug slightly when they rub firmly on her clit. Everything is so slick and hot, and she can’t tell if it’s his saliva, or her own natural lubricants. Cyan’s hands are squeezing her thighs, his tentacle-tongues working over her insides while his grasping facial tentacles hold her hips in place. She vaguely feels him drop one hand from her, and she looks down, barely able to see through her fogged visor.

Even with an obscured visor, it’s hard to miss that thick and mobile Ovipositor. Cyan is stroking it with his left hand, even as he keeps his right braced against her thigh. His obvious excitement makes White moan, arousal burning through her veins as her inner walls are mapped and stretched by the long tongues within.

“Aah Cy- mmnnn! I’m close-”

He makes an eager noise that vibrates inside her, making her curl over the Analysis console, and she quakes as those tongues fill her just right-

The quavering wail that escapes her is barely heard as her hips jerk in climax. Cyan doesn’t even seem to notice, tentacles still probing deeply into her and playing with her clit. White rides it out as long as she can, moaning and pushing back against his head. But it rapidly becomes too much, overstimulation becoming too intense to handle, and she manages to grasp the tentacle curled over her hips.

“I-I can’t… _Stop-_ ”

The tentacles uncurl immediately and he pulls away from her. White barely catches herself on wobbly legs. Cyan wraps an arm around her toso to support her, making an anxious noise.

“Did-”

“I’m fine,” she cuts him off before he winds himself up with worry that he hurt her. “I’m just overstimulated.”

“Oh,” he says, relaxing. White’s legs aren't really feeling like supporting her so she slowly lets herself slide to the ground, dropping her head. This has the effect of showing her what a mess she is downstairs. There is shiny slick in lines over her hip and around her belly where tentacles grasped her, and her pubic mound and inner thighs are so coated in her own vaginal lubrication and Cyan’s saliva that she can see little strings of it dripping free. _Holy fuck._ A tremor runs through her body, aftershocks tingling pleasantly in her core. Cyan is crouching beside her, and now that she’s had a moment to breathe, she reaches over without looking and manages to catch his ovipositor. “Oh!”

She grins to herself at his little squawk. “I’m in favour of repeated testing for scientific accuracy, to be clear. I just need a moment to breathe.”

He shifts a little closer and she looks at him, seeing that everything’s tucked up and hidden behind his visor again. There’s a lot of slick dripping down just below the visor though, and she laughs at the image he presents. He huffs at that, leaned into her space, and she tilts her head to lightly tap her helmet to his simulacrum of one. There’s a little purr-noise in response to that, and she smiles. Then she reminds him that she’s still got his ovipositor in hand by giving it a little squeeze and stroke. He chokes.

“So, were you planning on seeing if-”

The machine happily chimes that it has completed its procedure and the samples are ready for analysis. White groans and pushes to her feet, mindful not to trip over her pants, which are still around her knees. Cyan directs a little hiss at the console, but stands up as well. White leans over and hurriedly types away, moving the completed samples to her work bench and grabbing some fresh vials to put in along with the next set of samples.

“Well, I need at least three batches of completed samples to start my analysis, so we’ll have time to burn,” she says. Cyan makes a little “Mhmm”, but he sounds distracted. His ovipositor has a mind of it’s own and is rubbing against her leg now and then as it coils in search of contact. White feels fingers brushing over her left hip, and it stings. She pauses, looking down to see what Cyan’s noticed. It’s just a small scratch, probably caused by a tentacle-fang when he jerked away from her. A drop of blood escapes it, but it’s barely worth being concerned about, and she turns her attention back to finishing up reagent setup so she can get back to the _fun_ part of xenobiology.

The stinging disappears and she hums a little, glancing down again. Cyan is lightly stroking two fingers over the scratch as if trying to soothe it, and she can feel the pressure of that, but the stinging has completely gone away.

“Weird.”

“Eh?” Cyan pauses his concerned ministrations, looking up at her. It’s almost comical to see his worried stance when the bright red flesh of his outer claspers is spread wide to let that ovipositor hang almost all the way to the ground.

“My hip’s gone numb, I can’t feel the scratch,” White pauses, considering possible causes. “You aren't venomous, are you?”

“No?”

“Okay, so not that…” she hums, Cyan’s slick hand leaving her hip and so he can stare at his own appendage. Then he chortles and holds it out to her.

“You’re not allergic to me, right? We already tested that, right?”

“Yeah… no allergies to any of the proteins you produce,” she assures him. Cyan chortles again and rubs his thumb and forefinger together then brings them apart just enough to reveal a string of his slick.

“It’s my ovipositor’s slick, then. I didn’t even think about it, but that's how come it's so easy to penetrate another with it. The slick blocks pain and relaxes muscles a little.”

“... your ovipositor’s natural lubrication has anesthetic properties,” White says slowly. Cyan gives a bashful shrug. “I’ve run several samples from you, how have I never noticed!?”

“You’re always wearing your gloves?”

“... Right,” Sealed envirosuits and sterilization procedures (usually) before unsealing them. White could laugh at the absurdity of the situation, but she has a goal in mind now, and poor Cyan is trying to be patient but she can see the frustration for release building in the way his Ovipositor is starting to curl in on itself, the head seeking warmth and pressure. She knows from experience that he can auto-stimulate with it, likely will if he can’t find any other release, but while it’s certainly a fascinating sight, that’s not what they’re doing here. She shakes off the desire to find her notebook this instant and carefully steps a bit closer to him. “Well, that will probably come in useful.”

She taps the console to get it to start mixing compounds and centrifuging, and glances up at the timer. “Twenty minutes, hm.”

Cyan’s right up in her personal space all of a sudden and she chuckles. Obligingly, she lets him bring her to the examination bed, glad for the help considering she doesn’t want to trip over her pants. Speaking of, she plants herself on the narrow bunk and lifts her legs to kick off her boots and the pants so they’re out of the way. Cyan makes a little trilling noise and she looks up at him before returning her attention to pulling off her kit-

Except Cyan’s impatience has caught up and suddenly he’s on top of her on the bunk, tentacles peeking out from under his visor. Two are curling around each other and she thinks that’s cute, reaching up to lightly touch one. It pulls away at her initial touch, then relaxes, letting White stroke it with her index finger. Cyan’s main focus though is below the belt, and he shifts, trying to find placement that’ll work to get what he wants without accidentally grabbing her with the teeth of his outer claspers.

“Lift your legs a little?”

“Like this?” White tries hooking her legs over his waist, but the thing with a three foot ovipositor, is that now its in it’s own way of getting the head between her thighs. Plus, she can feel teeth digging into her glutes, and doesn’t like the sensation. “Ow. No.”

Cyan shifts back a little and pushes her legs open, flexing them until her calves are hanging off the examination bunk instead. He considers the position, letting out an aroused trill, then moves to straddling White’s waist, his ankles over top of her spread thighs and toes planted firmly under them. His ovipositor is easily long enough to curl back over his thigh and probe until it finds the sensitive opening between her thighs. It immediately starts squirming forward into her warmth, and White gasps and grabs the tops of Cyan’s thighs as she feels it’s girth trying to enter her. Cyan grasps his ovipositor, preventing it from just pushing in. “Is this alright?”

“Yeah, just… take it slow,” she wheezes, very suddenly aware of how broad the ovipositor is. Cyan nods, shifting a little, and he’s heavy on her waist, but not uncomfortably so. She pats at his knees as the head of his ovipositor twitches against her skin, pressing forward in little motions, then pulling back again, testing. White clenches her legs against the hard edges of the examination bunk when he probes a little deeper, the flexible nubs trimming the head dragging into her just a little. “Mmhmm… yeah that’s… that’s good.”

His ovipositor is always slick, and the little motions rub more of his lubricants into her skin. Knowing to pay attention to it, White can feel her nerves tingling as the natural anesthetic takes effect. She makes a curious sound, moving her arms down to her sides and propping herself up on her elbows, wishing she could see what he’s doing to her body. Cyan curls forward and taps his head to her helmet in the same moment he pushes the head of his ovipositor into her and it flares against her inner walls. White tosses her head back with a little gasp, feeling the stretch as heat. Cyan shifts above her, leaning his weight on the bunk just under White’s armpits. She tries to rock against the thick shaft just starting to fill her, but his weight has her pinned.

“White you’re… mrr-” the noise he makes is flanged and whiny and it makes her shiver. “You’re so _soft…_ ”

Cyan must be able to feel her straining to move, but he stays focused on his goal, which is very obviously to see how much of his ovipositor he can push into White. She squirms under him, gasping and panting. It’s not painful, but it’s a _lot_. Intensely regretting the fact that she’s still half dressed, she starts trying to struggle free of the heavy vest on the upper portion of her envirosuit. Cyan lifts himself slightly, panting eagerly at the feeling of her around his ovipositor. Seeing what she’s doing, one of his hands comes to help undo the clasp, and it’s a relief to have the weight off her chest as it gets shoved off to the side and hits the floor.

White focuses on unzipping the upper portion of her suit, and almost misses the minute way Cyan shifts, except it gives just enough space for his inner claspers to slide between them, rubbing wetly over her pubic mound and flexing in an uncoordinated sort of way. She gets the zipper stuck midway down her ribs and gives up on fighting with it; at least now she can get air on her skin! The ship is always cold, the suits as much for warmth as they are for a case of emergency depressurization, but right now, she’s hot enough that the chill air is a relief. She manages to yank the seal around her neck off too, even if it leaves her helmet on, at least she can get cool air into her lungs.

Bare skin in a new area is apparently enough of a curiosity that Cyan’s focus diverts to investigate, causing his ovipositor to flex a bit more erratically. White heaves involuntarily at the way it squirms against her inner walls, thunking her helmet against the thin pillow. “Ah! Cyan, fuck!”

He curls over her, his own gasps getting harsh and erratic, the base of his ovipositor squirming against White’s stomach, and the head pushes a little deeper into her. She grasps his shoulder, gripping tight at what doesn’t quite feel like an enviro-suit anymore, even through her gloves. In fact, instead of bunching like the material should, his shoulder is firm, giving her a good grip as she rides out the intense pressure within. She starts whimpering with every shallow thrust of that thick organ, feeling the moment it’s as deep as it can get in her. Cyan lets out a whiny sort of trill, slowly lowering himself onto his elbows.

His hips are still, letting his very flexible and prehensile ovipositor do the work, and the adjustment of position means White can squirm just a little, seeking relief. She startles at a touch to her bare collarbone, lifting her head just enough to see that Cyan’s visor has unhinged to let a probing tentacle out. It curls around, brushing over White’s collar and sternum with the soft outerside, the sharp fangs on the inside pointed away from her thin skin.

“White… nnhh, you’re--” he manages to vocalize, voice thick. She doesn’t understand everything he says, isn’t even sure if some of the noises he’s making are language or if he’s just as overwhelmed as she is here. She grips at his shoulder and his thigh, trying to get her hips to just the right angle…

One of his inner claspers finds her labia and traces along the lip, stretched tight by the thick Ovipositor spearing her open, and then the very tip of that sensitive, wonderfully mobile clasper finds her clit and White barely hears herself whimper, thighs trying to clamp down. Cyan keens, burying his head against her neck, and she can feel another one of his tentacles lightly curling over her neck, flexing against her skin. White holds him close, her head tossed back, not even seeing the medbay ceiling as white-hot pleasure burns through her veins.

The Ovipositor pulses and pushes forwards, compressing itself a little as it seeks her warmth. Right now, there’s no eggs to push through it into her; it’s functionally just a very large, very muscular penis, and when Cyan comes, she can feel it pulsing inside her, liquid heat pushing into her, finding no escape past the Imposter’s member. Too much, too much, way too much-

His long tongue-like clasper twitches hard and pulls off of her clit, and that extra flicker of sensation makes her eyes roll back in her head and her body lock up. She doesn’t even cry out; only a harsh gasp escaping before her muscles give up.


	3. Spacewalk day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just some random day to day stuff, nonsexual alien anatomy and maybe a little sexual alien anatomy. No porn this chapter. Some discussion regarding cross-species intercourse tho.

She’s not sure if it’s been a minute or ten when she finally manages to rouse from her pleasured daze. She can hear the sample computer chiming softly to alert her that she can come collect the centrifuged samples now. Cyan is somehow managing to be stretched out beside her despite the examination bed being barely wide enough for one person. She turns her head to look at him and sees that he’s limp, a few tentacles flopped out from under his visor. She chortles softly at the sight and shifts slightly.

Oh. Wow, bad idea. She is _full._

She looks down and she can actually see a swell in her belly and what the heck caused-

His Ovipositor is still extended. It’s flopped over her leg and resting listlessly between her thighs, slick and shiny with lubricants and cum. There’s a liberal trail of white from the apex of her thighs to the head of the ovipositor, and she huffs to herself in amusement. Now that she’s moving though, she’s intensely aware of how much cum is in her, and shivers, goosebumps raising down her arms. _Damn._

“Cyan?”

His tentacles pull back under his visor and he lifts his head sluggishly to look at her, then follows her gaze down to the mess between her thighs. He lets out a little trill, then looks back up at her. She’s not quite sure how to interpret that sound in this context, but shrugs it off.

“Did you like it?” He asks, tone hopeful. White lets out another little huff of laughter, laying herself back down on the hard little bunk and tries to flex her legs. It takes some effort before she manages it.

“That was intense, and yes I liked it. I can’t feel my legs though.”

“Oh. Good.”

Cyan nuzzles in close to her, and White finds herself treated to a… tongue bath? Maybe it’s a kiss? Either way, she can feel his tentacles and/or tongues gently caressing her neck for a few moments, and then they’re gone and he’s standing up, his secondary claspers tucking away the quickest, and his Ovipositor slowly retracting into his body. She really wants to know how that thing can vanish into him like that.

He offers her a hand up and White considers a long moment, before letting him help her into sitting up, at least. She gasps as it causes a rush of his cum to escape, putting a hand over her stomach. Okay, she’s stiff as heck, but in a pleasant sort of way. It’s more a reminder of how absolutely intense and insane it was to agree to having sex with someone that she knows can emit about a gallon of semen at a time. Now that she’s moving a bit, she decides she’s fine and pushes to her feet, feeling more fluid dripping free. Okay, minor issue there.

“I… really need a shower,” she chortles. Glancing up shows her the tip of Cyan’s ovipositor tucking away, and his outer claspers close up, leaving him looking like just a normal member of the crew in their suit. Nothing suspicious here. Except the somewhat sticky mess around his visor and lower half. “I think you do too.”

He gives a wry shrug, looking down at himself.

“Uh… good thing there’s a wash station in here?”

White snickers at that, reaching over to rub her hand up the back of Cyan’s neck and gently patting his head. Cyan leans into the touch with a content trill. “You wash up first, I need to go swap samples before the computer goes into standby.”

He nods and reluctantly steps away. White watches him a moment, then slowly works herself up to her feet. Oh dear, okay, she’s going to be dripping for a while. She puts a hand on her belly and idly contemplates the wisdom of the plan to let Cyan breed her, albeit with unfertilized eggs, his next heat. But she’s just so damn curious if it’s viable when their species’ evolved on completely opposite ends of the universe. This is the pro/con with being stuck in a spaceship for months or years on end; eventually the routine bores you enough to be willing to try about anything for a change of pace.

And hey, she is an Xenobiologist. Somewhere, several other people are wishing they were in her place.

* * *

She’s bent over her samples when Medbay’s door unlocks. She glances up just long enough to see which of the two people with override codes to that door did it, nods once at Purple, then returns to her samples.

“So…”

She looks up at him, and can absolutely sense the raised brow. She raises both of hers and her chin to indicate that she’s waiting for him to finish the statement.

“Why are your pants over there on the floor and where’d Cyan go?” Purple finally asks, tone warm. “And what would’ve you done if it was Yellow coming in here instead of me?”

“Every time I bend at the waist I eh… drip,” White answers. No shame between the two of them. “My pants are a mess so I asked Cyan to swing by my quarters to grab my other set. If Yellow came in here to find all this, she’d immediately stammer and leave.”

“Probably bounce off the door frame on her way out, too,” Purple agrees, his good humor remaining. “Sample day’s going better than usual, I take it.”

White ducks her head with a little laugh. Purple shuts the doors behind him, making sure they’re relocked, and then walking over to look over her shoulder.

“What’s this?”

“Slide of some microorganisms we picked up on that little planetoid we stopped at,” she answers, shifting a little, feeling a pleasant pulse in her core. “Actually, since you’re here, I could use your help a moment.”

“Of course.”

She stands up carefully, heading for the now-cleaned exam bunk. “I’m feeling great, but apparently Imposters secrete a natural local anesthetic, and… well…”

“You’re not sure if you’re feeling fine because you actually are, or because you’re numbed?”

“Yes, exactly. Could you grab the ultrasound kit for me? Bending and kneeling are… difficult at the moment.”

Purple nods and heads over to the cabinet, crouching down to pull out the kit. He pauses, glancing back at her.

“Anaesthetic secretions? None of the tests you or I have done on the samples Cyan let us take had anything about that.”

White shrugs. “We’ve always followed proper sterile procedures and kept our clean suits on before this, and the chemical compounds of anesthetics wouldn’t be something we tested for.”

Purple scoffs a little at that, shrugging as if to say ‘fair enough. He pauses a long second, but when he straightens, he has the kit in hand. “So you _were_ actually doing research.”

“Oh, be nice,” she chuckles softly, accepting the ultrasound wand from Purple and prepping it. He’s her backup medic, so she lets him do the actual scan, watching the screen to see if she can see any injuries inside her body. Everything seems fine though.

“I mean, once you’ve managed to clean up down there, a gynaecological exam is probably wise,” Purple comments. “But I’m sure you’ve already thought about that.”

“Yeah,” she hadn’t actually, but he doesn’t need to know that. She stretches out her arms. “Remind me to ask Cyan to show us his harpoon.”

“You’ve told me that twice now,” Purple comments, taking the ultrasound wand to sterilize. White chuffs in amusement.

“Well, why didn’t you remind me?”

“Trust me, if I’d realized you two were going to do some experimenting, I’d have mentioned it,” he tells her in his usual calm and cheerful voice. A little rattle from the vent in the corner of the room has them both glance around, and sure enough, Cyan pokes out.

“Oh, hi Purple! Here, White,” Cyan almost chirps it out, shaking out White’s spare Envirosuit. “I got you the whole thing and the uhh… underwear you wanted. I think.”

“Thanks,” she says. “Can you leave it over there on that table, I’m going to clean up first.”

“Sure,” he says cheerfully. He sets her spare gear down and walks over to bonk his head against Purple’s shoulder. Purple lets out a fond little noise and pats the back of Cyan’s neck in a brief gesture to indicate affection in return. White smiles to herself at the sight, then focuses on walking over to the wash station. She’s already tried to clean up once, but it’s ah… tricky to wash out the inside of one’s uterus and she doesn’t really feel like trying that without approved equipment.

“Oh yeah,” Purple says, pulling his clipboard out of the drawer he keeps it in. “I’m supposed to remind White that she wants to see your harpoon.”

“Eh? I mean, okay?” Cyan manages to convey blinking, and White laughs.

“Let me get dressed and a few other things first, jeez Purple,” she says, shaking her head. She closes off the privacy screen before stripping out the rest of her gear and trying for clean a second time. “Electrical maintenance didn’t take too long then?”

“Uh, it’s Midday break,” he answers back. White peeks out of the decontamination shower, just one eye showing past the screen.

“What? Already?”

“Yes, it’s 1145,” Purple tilts his head at her. White notices Cyan’s hands clasped in front of his visor and can sense him staring at her, so she glances at him, and he looks away. She makes a little ‘hmmf’ sound and retreats back into the shower.

“Got wrapped up in the samples once I actually started analysis,” she muses aloud.

When she comes out, fully dressed, Cyan is leaned in close to the shiny reflective surface of the medbay doors. White glances at Purple, then back to Cyan, then to Purple again. The physicist shrugs back to indicate he has no idea what the Impostor’s doing.

“Well, guess I’ll be working a little late into lunch,” White says, popping her back. Hmm, maybe she should pop a basic muscle relaxant, at some point she’ll be feeling aftereffects of sex with someone not completely compatible with her anatomy. “I’ll look at your harpoon another time, Cyan, I need to finish all these samples.”

“Oh, okay,” he looks around from his reflection. “Sorry.”

She chuckles. “Don’t be. That was fun.”

* * *

By next morning, White maybe has a couple regrets. She’s sore now, though it’s no more than her inner muscles demanding to know why she did that, so, oh well. And hey, that morning shower managed to get her all cleaned up, so bonus.

She does have to focus on not walking funny when she enters the cafeteria though. The crew works on a day/night rotation, with only two people covering the night watch, and the position of night crew rotates amongst everyone. Right now, it’s Orange and Lime doing night shift, and they’re both slow to pick out their food options, Lime’s head slowly drooping with exhaustion.

Not to say that some of the just-woke-up crowd are doing much better. Red’s grumbling at his cup of coffee, and White grins to herself as she gathers her own morning ration and finds a spot to sit for a bit and wake up. She looks up as someone slides in to an adjacent seat, and nods to Yellow.

“Morning.”

“Good morning,” Yellow replies. “You alright?”

“Hmm, oh, fine, just overexerted myself a little,” White grins guilelessly through her visor at the Captain. Yellow gives her an unamused grunt, but doesn’t call her out on the evasion. Across the room, Blue is gesticulating passionately about something to a very confused Cyan. The Impostor is nodding now and then, leaned ever-so-slightly away from Blue. White wonders what they’re talking about. “So what’s the general upkeep we need to work on today?”

“Hmm, actually I’m going to need you tell me which crew members are fit for a space walk,” Yellow tells her. “The portside shield emitters need replacing. I’ll pick out the three who’ll work best together from your list of those suitable.”

“Ah,” White seriously considers the question. It’s a matter of physical strength and endurance. “I think anyone on crew would be fine, last round of physicals I didn't see any degradation in muscle mass or bone density. Everyone’s keeping in shape.”

“That’s good, it makes my job easier. I’d hate to force one of this cycle’s night crew to switch back over to day shift for a spacewalk,” Yellow shudders. White nods agreeably. Spacewalking is hard enough when you’re not sleep deprived. “I’ll need you and Purple on standby in medbay in case something goes wrong. If you’re confident that anyone can handle the spacewalk, I’ll send out Brown, Black and Red and have Blue on Weapons in case any large asteroids come too close to the ship while the shields are down.”

White nods again, recognizing that Yellow’s talking more to herself than to the medic. Yellow’s muttering about who will be on comms with the space walk team, who will be keeping the checklist, who’ll be monitoring the ship’s vital systems. Finally, when Yellow pauses, White asks a question. “Do you want us in the medbay or waiting at the airlock?”

“Considering how long it takes to get someone to the airlock from the shield emitters outside, I’d prefer that you were sure that medbay’s fully set up. I know you’d be able to make the trip from medbay to the airlock a lot faster than our spacewalkers would.”

Another nod out of White. “Alright, are you going to announce it?”

Yellow nods and stands up, raising her voice for attention. Pink, who was on the threshold of walking out of the cafeteria with his portion about-faces and comes back in to listen. White considers what she should be doing today while waiting for an emergency call that hopefully won’t come. She notices Cyan loading a plate for himself, clearly only half listening. She smiles wryly at that; Cyan’s sharp and has more duties around the ship than some might consider wise for an Alien who was sent specifically to infiltrate and wipe them out, but he’s still got no part to play when it comes to a spacewalk, weaponry, or shields.

Actually, he probably won’t have too much to do today, White muses. He usually ends up doing drudge work, because as much as he’s proven himself trustworthy to the crew, he’s still technically a hostile alien, and that means any duties relating to upkeep and maintenance of the ship that he gets must be near-impossible to do them so wrong that it creates a hazard. But one can only clean so much before they go insane, so Yellow kicks Cyan off the duty schedule every once in a while so he can take a break.

No one really minds, considering the arrangement still means that the only cleaning they all have to do is their own stations, usually. Cyan doesn’t mind being helpful, and will usually end up holding something or passing tools to someone working under a panel during his extra time off. That, or he ends up in medbay, tolerating as he’s prodded and poked by curious scientists.

Okay, he was certainly more than _tolerating_ a few times, including yesterday. White grins to herself then heads over to the Impostor, noticing that Cyan’s taken a couple vegetables that came fresh off the last supply vehicle that caught up to the Skeld. He insists that he’s an obligate carnivore, but he will occasionally try vegetables or other things that catch his interest.

Like say, a cupcake.

She doesn’t think he’s caused himself digestive distress by sampling foods alien to him, but then, he’s always mindful to take no more than what she considers a mouthful or two, so it’s obviously not enough to harm him.

He lifts his chin and nods to her. “Hi White!”

“Morning Cyan,” she says warmly. “Any duties today?”

“I was gonna help Blue with fixing a dented wall, but now she’s helping the spacewalk,” Cyan sighs. “I guess everyone’s going to have duties supporting it today?”

White nods. “Yeah, but Purple and I are going to be doing a lot of sitting around and waiting in medbay in case something goes wrong out there, so you’re welcome to keep us company if you don’t mind being prodded at.”

He shrugs, tilting his head. “Sure.”

* * *

Today, Cyan’s definitely tolerating over enjoying the examination. His visor is hinged open to let his harpoon dangle out. White is letting its head rest in her left hand as she gently palpates it with her right. Purple is sitting in the next chair, doing a quick sketch. The fleshy head of Cyan’s harpoon is about six inches long, and about two to three inches wide, with small nubs, the largest near the base that connects to the muscular flesh that can launch his harpoon like a weapon. Cyan can’t passively extend his harpoon much more than about a foot; it’s a natural biological mechanism that he can shoot it like a spring loaded dart then rapidly pull it back into his throat where it’s sheathed, or stick out just enough to use as an extra, oddly-shaped tongue.

It’s a soft, squishy bit of flesh, but there’s a hard core to it, and White has noticed a little gap near the tip that looks like a sheathe. She traces her finger over it, earning a little ‘mrr’ from Cyan that might be annoyance.

“Sorry,” she releases her thumb and forefinger from around the neck of the harpoon. It retracts back under his visor, and she can hear a wet sort of sound like he’s working it around in his mouth. “Uncomfortable?”

“Ticklish,” he answers. White chuckles.

“Fair enough,” She says, happy when he lets it dangle back out. She holds it flat on her hand again, glancing at Purple. “How’s’ the sketch coming?”

“Good,” Purple answers. “You can engorge it, right, Cyan? White mentioned feeling that.”

Cyan makes a noise of affirmation, and both White and Purple watch with interest as the organ darkens, the base swelling further than the tip. Holding it, White can feel the firm core shifting, and she’s not quite surprised when a hard point emerges from the little sheath at the tip of his harpoon. She tests this with her finger, and finds it sharp.

“Suppose this is the bit that does the damage in hunting,” she comments. “Can I do an Xray scan while you go from relaxed harpoon to fully engorged?”

Cyan makes another affirmative noise, so White lets Purple finish his sketch, and then releases Cyan’s harpoon again. He pulls it back into his mouth, and again there’s that wet noise of him settling it back into place.

“How many tongues do you have?” Purple asks idly as White goes to grab the X-ray scanner. She pauses to listen a moment to the feed coming from the spacewalk crew, though she’ll only need to turn on her end of the comm if they hear a distress call from the trio outside. Cyan doesn’t verbally answer, but Purple hums with interest. “Five? Hmm, and then your harpoon’s placed to the centre under one... So it could be a modified tongue…”

“The hard bony core could easily be a modified tooth, too,” White points out. “What do you think?”

This last question was directed at Cyan, who shrugs. “I never learned too much about the intensive details of biology.”

White really hopes that at some point, she’ll be able to meet a scientist or doctor of Cyan’s species. They call them “Impostors” for lack of a better word; there’s no mimicking the warbling, musical noise that Cyan uses as the name for his kind. She’d love to know more about them, and would enjoy a fair exchange of knowledge. He’s brilliant, but not a biologist.

(He claimed once to be an Xenolinguist. No one called him on it; considering how flawlessly he speaks their altogether different language, even picking up on idioms, he might not even be lying. Not a single one of the crew can understand even a single sound of his home tongue as _language_ unless he tells them it is. He’s also fluent at reading by this point, and is slowly working his way through the ship’s library. )

The scan is fascinating to look at. The bone or cartilage core of his harpoon is shaped like an arrowhead, with clear attachment points at its base that must keep it firmly anchored in muscle. White laments that they have no high speed camera to record the Harpoon firing. Cyan hums smugly, enjoying the attention, but he’s more than happy to take his harpoon back and keep it after that.

* * *

Space Walks are slow and tedious for those inside the ship when nothing goes wrong, but there’s always that worry that something will, right up until the walkers are back inside the airlock, and decontamination protocols have confirmed that no hazardous chemicals have gotten into their gear. Seven hours after it started, the Airlock hisses as it repressurizes, letting the exhausted trio of engineers back in.

Brown’s sitting against the wall, weak to artificial gravity after so many hours floating weightless, using her full body as a tool to work. Blue and Red are standing, but just barely. Purple goes to lift Brown to her feet, and White tucks under Red’s arm. Cyan is close to Blue, and copies White’s technique with her. Once they’ve been stripped of the heavy space suits, left in only their enviro gear, the three are brought to nearby chairs and White gives them all a quick scan. She checks their responses to simple prompts and questions before declaring them fine, just in need of food and rest. She orders them to each drink a full litre of water for good measure, despite the fact that there were water bags in their space walking gear.

The space walk over, Yellow declares everyone’s work day done with, even if there’s still a couple hours left on the schedule. It gives the afternoon a celebratory sort of feel, and the crew takes advantage of the extra downtime to socialize, night crew and day crew having time to interact once Lime and Orange have woken up.

White and Purple head back to medbay to put away all the gear they pulled out in case it’d be needed for anything from exposure to the vacuum, or chemical contact. They’d even done preliminary prep in case one of the spacewalk crew collapsed from exhaustion and needed reviving.

Cyan trots after them, but they don’t mind. He has a tendency to default to following either one of them, or Red, and with two of his favorite three crewmates in one place, of course he’s coming along. As they’re cleaning, he helps put things away, chatting a little. The longer he’s been with the crew, the more he talks, and White idly notes that he’s starting to pick up on Blue’s accent, though he still tends to phrase things the way either she or Purple would. A lot of Cyan’s mimicry seems completely unconscious, but that doesn’t make it simple. It makes the scientist her happy to notice little things that show how he instinctively fits into place, blending in well enough to be mistaken for just another crewmate.

She likes him as a person, and as an Xenobiologist she’s delighted to be able to do long term observations on another sapient species. But it sounds cold to put it that way. He’s her friend, and she’s glad he’s here.

She laughs as he wraps around one of Purple’s arms with a little trilling noise. “Uh oh, someone’s about to go into heat, I see.”

“Mmmnnnn, not yet, but soon,” Cyan says, playing with Purple’s fingers. “Few more days probably.”

“We’ll have to warn everyone else out of medbay when it happens,” Purple comments, as if discussing the weather, only pulling his gloved hand away when Cyan tries to bring it up to his visor and curl a tentacle-tongue around the thumb. Cyan huffs as if offended. “We should double check that everyone’s still on the same page about what’s going to happen while we can.”

“Oh. Yes.” Cyan’s tentacles tuck back up and his visor shuts, but White thinks he’s still a little put out. She sits down beside him and he makes the tiniest purr, lightly bumping his visor off her shoulder. “You definitely don’t want the eggs to actually be uh... Fertilized, right?”

“Maybe once we’re sure it’s viable and safe,” White answers, glancing at him. “Wait, I thought you said you needed a mate of your species to fertilize them.”

“Yeah, but, I’ve had mates before.”

“Oh, interesting,” says Purple, already writing away on his clipboard. White half-grins in amusement, leaving the note-taking to him at the moment. “So you can fertilize your eggs from a past partner’s semen? Does that mean your body stores it?”

“You haven’t mentioned that before,” White teases. Cyan huffs, clearly pondering that.

“You don’t work like that?”

“No, if someone were to get pregnant with us it’s because they had sex while or just before the person with the uterus was fertile. We don’t store it, there’s a few different animals on our planet that do it like that though,” White explains. Cyan folds his hands, contemplating that.

“Weird.”

“Wait, could you use the genes from anyone you’ve ever mated with, or just a mate from a specific timespan ago?” Purple wonders. Cyan shrugs.

“Everyone who’s ever mated me and came in me, I think. I don’t pick the sire, it’s just… from all of them.”

“Hm, interesting,” Purple scribbles away and White leans over to peek at his notes before he pulls it away. “Get your own.”

White chuckles at the good natured horseplay, pushing to her feet and pacing a little around the medbay to stretch her legs. She’s aware of Cyan watching her, and once her energized pacing bring her back to the exam table, she stops in front of him. “Are _you_ still alright with all this? You’ve been quiet.”

“Yeah,” he answers, tilting his head. “Why? Do I seem like I’m not?”

“Just checking in,” she answers. It can be hard to go off anything but an explicit yes, sometimes. Especially when dealing with a whole different species. Cyan shrugs.

“I’m happy I can mate you. We trust each other. Purple will be there and he’ll know if something’s wrong and we don’t notice it. I’m gonna be careful with you like you are with me.”

It’s stated matter of factly, and White has to fight down the urge to ‘aww’ at the Imposter. He might take it the wrong way. Instead, she leans over and lets him tap his head against her helmet. Gentle headbutting isn’t really a natural thing for Cyan, but it’s a sign of affection he’s become very fond of in the last few months, if his frequency of use is any indication.

“Thank you for trusting us,” Purple says, and White reaches over to pat Cyan’s shoulder affectionately. Cyan gives himself a little shake and makes a faint clicking noise at Purple. He finally does get Purple’s left hand back though. He idly rubs his thumb in little circles on Purple’s palm, apparently determined to massage the physicist’s digits. White has no idea what it means when he does it, and he gets embarrassed and stops if asked. It’s some kind of friendly or affectionate gesture, though, that much is obvious.

Purple hands the clipboard over to White, since he’s now down a hand, and White looks over what he’s written, adding a couple of her own notes to the sketches Purple did of Cyan’s harpoon. She’s focused on that, but hearing a little hum out of Purple, she blinks and looks up to see Cyan’s curled a couple tentacles over Purple’s hand, the sharp teeth on one lightly rasping over the Physicist’s sleeve. They tug on the fabric, but leave no marks. After a minute, Purple gets his hand back, and he idly flexes his fingers. Cyan’s visor snaps shut, and he seems pleased.

The only thing White can ever figure out in regards to this specific behaviour is that Impostors probably get something out of their hands being massaged like that. Cyan always ends these little moments by running teeth over their gloves, which doesn’t help them figure it out. Whatever the answer is, he’s always happy after being allowed to do it. He doesn’t try for White’s hand, tipping his head at her in a smile.

“One concern I have,” Purple says, absently rubbing his wrist where Cyan’s teeth have delicately slid across it. “Is whether or not the eggs will actually fit. Yes, the uterus is meant to stretch like that, but that’s over the course of nine months. It shifts within the body cavity during that time too. I’m worried that White won’t be able to take a clutch, or trying could do damage.”

Cyan’s shoulders hunch at that, and he glances at her. She hums.

“I thought about it too,” she admits, pulling a little notebook out of her carry pouch. “But clutch size is always around a half dozen, which isn’t… too many for their size. Besides, there’s nothing saying I have to take all of them, right?”

Cyan nods at that, shoulders relaxing a little. “Yeah, I mean I can’t really stop them coming out of me, but I can just pull my ovipositor out. It doesn’t lock in place or anything.”

“Okay, that’s good,” Purple says. White opens her notebook to the section she has going to record the conversations they have about the idea of Cyan trying to breed with one of them. There’s already several pages of notes from these conversations; records of discussions of who should be the host, should other crew members be informed of the experiment, would someone else want to participate? They’d decided against seeing if anyone else wanted to participate, though a couple people were somewhat aware of the idea.

Then the long discussions on if it’d make more sense for White or Purple to host, and so on and so forth. White pauses briefly on a sketch she’d done of Cyan’s genitals at full arousal, and chuckles at a note she’d made on the edge of the page.

_Pink looked over my shoulder while I was touching up this sketch and asked where I’d seen that pretty flower._

She’d been faced with a rather hilarious dilemma due to that question, whether to lie or tell Pink in the middle of the cafeteria exactly what she was sketching. Never had she been so happy for Yellow’s morning announcements interrupting a conversation. She flips to the section of concerns, writing down the basics of their conversation. Once done, she glances over the other notes and nods, pleased.

Cyan is peeking over her shoulder, so she tilts her notebook to let him read what she’s written down. He reads for a bit before moving away, and when she looks up, it’s to discover Purple’s right hand has been stolen, and is now getting the same treatment as the left before it. White chuckles, looking back down and writing another thought into her notebook before voicing it.

“Well, we know that I can take your ovipositor vaginally, but would you be able to get past my cervix without hurting me? That’d be a… test all in itself.”

Cyan pauses his ministrations, looking up at her, and she can swear he’s blinking at her. “Are you… hurting right now?”

“No, I’m feeling fine,” White assures him. Cyan chuffs.

“Then I can get past your cervix without hurting you because I already did.”

It’s White’s turn to blink, looking down at her stomach instinctively. Purple lets out a thoughtful ‘hmm’ at the declaration.

“I… did not realize that,” White wryly admits. “But considering how rounded my stomach was for a while after, I likely should’ve.”

“That natural local anaesthetic works very well,” Purple comments as White’s writing this into her notebook. “Would it be odd to try and isolate the compound to synthesize?”

“Eh, stranger things have been used to reduce pain,” White answers. Cyan snickers, resuming his massaging of Purple’s hand.

“Better than the alternative method of getting the needed anaesthetic,” the Impostor giggles. White shakes her head with a smile as Purple chuckles. “Uh… what if someone else needs medical attention while I’m in heat? It’d be hard for you to just get up and hurry to a medical situation.”

“I’ve spoken to Yellow about needing to be off the duty rotation for a couple days and that it was…. Related to why you need three days in a row sometimes,” White answers promptly, also writing this down. “We know when it’s coming now, so Purple will be the on call medic, if he has to leave for a little while, we’ll be fine. If it’s an emergency-”

“Yeah, survival instinct overwhelms even heat,” Cyan remarks.

“That’s well sorted then,” Purple notes, glancing at White’s notebook. “What about- oh no, we covered that already.”

“Uhh, just-” Cyan taps his fingers together. “The reason we all decided it was gonna be you and not Purple I should try breeding with is because you have both, uh, orifices, that your species can have, not just one.”

“Mm, yes,” White agrees, sensing where this is going. “I mean, if we made it work vaginally, it should all work anally, generally speaking you can fit something with greater depth into the back passage.”

“Oh,” He says, idly fiddling with what looks to be the seal on his suit. It’s a fidgety habit he picked up from a couple of the crew. Such a small thing, but he has no need to fiddle with his suit temperature regulator, or adjust the position of a sleeve, but he does anyway, because it’s a natural motion among the people he’s mimicking. White wonders if he’s even aware he’s doing it. “That’s good.”

White’s about to ask him if he’s trying to flirt when Purple speaks.

“Duty shift is over for the day, you can just flirt if you’d like to.”

“Oh, ah-” Cyan’s chest fades to mauve and he looks away. White sighs, tilting her head at Purple.

“I’m sorry,” Purple says, gentle and apologetic. “I was trying to poke fun.”

“S’ok, I’m not good at that anyway. Your people flirt strangely,” Cyan mutters, the mauve fading back into his proper bright shade.

White chuckles, giving a shrug. “Yeah? How would you and yours flirt?”

“Uhhhh, well...” Cyan folds his arms. “Never said the way we do it makes more sense.”

That earns snickers out of both scientists. Purple shakes his head. “Romance is a messy subject galaxy-wide. Somehow, that’s reassuring.”

“Uhhh, well… _mating_ is. I don’t think we really do romance,” Cyan idly rubs at his collar. “I mean, you sometimes get a few who partner up to care for the hatchlings until they can go to the nurseries, or form little coalitions among friends, but comparing that to the way your uh... books talk about pairing is… they’re not very similar.”

“Considering you can reserve genetic materials from several partners and decide when to use them, I’d suppose that makes sense,” White muses, twirling her pen as she thinks. “Genetic variance in every clutch and all that.”

“Sure,” Cyan says. “I mean, flirting is all about picking out the fittest partner right? It’s just a complex mate-finding ritual.”

“You should say that loudly next time Brown starts strutting around Orange,” Purple says with humor. White laughs, catching her pen as Cyan snickers. “Do you mind me asking what you’d consider flirting?”

Cyan shrugs. “Talking, socializing… dancing… it’s not quite the right word, but sometimes when someone’s happy and secure they’ll sort of dance and show off how good they are at changing.”

He holds up his left arm and his fingertips ripple from the usual bright blue to mauve and then a soft red, the colors travelling up his arm before fading at his shoulder. White nods appreciatively at the display. Then Cyan drops his arm back to his side, the limb once again a single color. There’s something in his tone that maybe means he’s holding something back, but that's his business.

“That is most definitely eye-catching,” Purple says. “So that’s not like, a direct display you said?”

Cyan shrugs again. “Sometimes when there’s a group and everyone’s content and relaxed, you just feel like showing off. Some people can be obnoxious about it, but it’s usually just stretching your abilities because you can and it’s fun. But if you see someone flash through the visible color spectrum or make a pattern of the way they change their markings, you’ll remember if they were impressive.”

Purple nods, writing that down.

“I’d be rather impressed to see someone change colors through the visible spectrum,” White comments. Then, for humor, she adds: “Well that depends on species. Yours? Cool. Mine? I’d be pulling out the first aid kit because something’s definitely not right.”

Cyan laughs.


	4. Soft Sciences

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is pure porn. Mention of Mandalorian-like-face-hiding culture, per a discussion with steamwhistle. Cyan’s pretty anxious about how soft-skinned his friends are.
> 
> I made White left-handed because in the one pic steamwhistle did, she’s using her left hand for the dexterous work (fingering Cyan) and her right for just keeping his ovipositor away, which is the opposite of how I’d do it as a rightie.
> 
> I have a NSFW twitter account where I retweet naughty stuff that pleases me, as well as ramble on occasion or make jokes about my writing. Come see me at @tvheartsrobots and destroy any notion of me being a sensible human being.

“I miss the veils,” White muses. “They felt much less ridiculous than being naked except a helmet.”

Purple hums agreement from where he’s leaning over medbay’s work table, reading their combined notes.

“Veils?” Cyan asks, looking up from where he’s crouched at White’s knee, petting her hip where he’d left the scratch before. It’s mostly healed by now, just a slightly discolored mark that’ll be gone in a day or two. White looks at him and lifts her left leg so he can pull off her boot and then the pant leg. She then shifts, lifting her right leg so he can do the same there.

While Cyan’s focused on her leggings, she answers, putting a hand on his shoulder for stability. “You how know our culture generally emphasizes only showing our faces to close friends or family. The usual fashion is hooded veils.”

“Oh,” Cyan nods at that. “So you’re just always in the helmets here because it’s easier than switching from a veil when you need to have a sealed environment around your bodies.”

“Exactly that,” White says, focused on unsealing her upper gear, setting it on the counter. “Which is sensible on a spaceship, mind. I don’t usually care but the helmet feels a bit heavy when I’m otherwise naked.”

Purple chuckles from the table where he’s still flipping through the notebooks. “It does look a bit odd, certainly.”

“Heh, it works out well for my kind, you realize,” Cyan mentions. “A helmet with an opaque visor is a lot easier to accurately copy than a face with expressions. The veil thing might be a bit harder though.”

“True, but you’d probably just steal a veil the same way you did the visor,” Purple points out reasonably.

“Yeah.” Cyan admits, his visor unhinging and a tentacle sneaking out to rub at White’s thigh. She reaches down with bare fingers and lightly strokes it. It flinches back, then extends again, curling around her digit. “Still ticklish.”

“Noted,” White says, letting him curl the mobile appendage around her fingers, then pull back and slide up her hand and around her wrist. “I’m naked now, Purple, if you want to turn around.”

Purple straightens from the table and turns around, glancing down to where Cyan has White’s hand wrapped in his tentacles, lightly tracing over her bare skin. White pats the top of his head with her free hand, earning a small purr.

Cyan pauses in his ministrations as Purple walks over to sit by the exam table. The tentacles pull away from White’s hand and back behind the visor. “I don’t get why he wasn’t looking while you were getting naked when he’s going to see all of you naked anyway. Besides, you’re the doctors, don’t you already know what everyone looks like naked?”

“It’s a context thing,” Purple responds, sorting out the ultrasound kit. “Stripping in front of someone has a sexual context, but as an observer coming in after she’s already naked it’s more neutral grounds.”

“Ookay,” Cyan says, clearly disbelieving. White laughs, moving to sit on the exam bunk near Purple, crossing her legs politely.

“Clothing really isn’t something your species does, is it?”

“What’s clothing for again?” Cyan huffs. “Modesty, ornamentation, and or protection from the elements, right? Anything I need to be modest about tucks up and closes, my species can change our colors and look how we want, and the areas we live tend to be the perfect conditions for us anyway.”

“Fair enough,” Purple chuckles. He lifts up the external ultrasound wand. “We’re all still good with me using this?”

“Yes,” White says. It was her idea, after all.

Cyan side-eyes the wand suspiciously a moment before nodding. “Yeah, if you’re only using it on her abdomen it should be good.”

“If it gives you the slightest discomfort I’ll take it away,” Purple promises. White hums in satisfaction. With any luck the high-frequency sounds won’t discomfort the head of Cyan’s ovipositor the way an internal ultrasound had set him off the one time.

(It didn’t _hurt_ him, certainly, but something that functions as an instant zero-to-orgasm button is understandably disconcerting to a person.)

White scootches back on the examination bunk until she’s sitting with her feet well planted near the end. For the moment, she keeps her knees together, watching Cyan shift his weight indecisively. She can sense the uncertain moment, but holds her peace. Cyan glances at Purple, then the medbay doors, which are sealed, then back to White. Finally he steps closer to the bunk, putting a knee between her feet. White responds by spreading her knees and letting him between them.

“All right?” She asks, holding her hand out and letting his tentacles coil around it even as one of his hands brushes over her belly. Cyan snuggles forward until his knees are just under White’s thighs, though he doesn’t press their bodies flush.

“Bright lights feel weird for this,” he answers. “They always do. I’m used to the dark.”

She nods understandingly. “You’ve struggled with medbay lighting a few times, should we plan to have the lights dimmed during your heat?”

Cyan gives a little shrug, shifting as White’s right hand strokes over his groin. “Well I- mmm, I like it dark, but you don’t see as well. I know it’s safe in here. I just… don’t like it bright. I feel exposed.”

”We’ll see if we can find a compromise with the lights,” Purple comments. Cyan makes an agreeable noise.

He leans in, a couple tentacles and tongues peeking past his visor. White keeps stroking him, feeling his outer claspers starting to disconnect from each other. She finds a gap between the relaxing teeth down there, and gently strokes against the tender inner flesh. He’s not very aroused yet, so things are not yet slick, but it’s incredibly soft, and she brushes her fingers in little circular motions against the bright red skin. Cyan gasps, shifting closer. His tentacles curl over White’s neck and she hums with interest, feeling his teeth carefully tilt away from her pulse.

“I hate to interrupt,” Purple says. “But there’s no way I’ll be able to use the ultrasound with the position you two are in.”

Hmm, Yeah, it might be easier if I’m on top,” White muses. “But if I’m moving around a lot that’ll also make it harder…”

“What if I move over-” Cyan shifts away, maybe planning to lay beside White again. Except this time he’s not as careful, and goes over too far. He misses the edge of the narrow bunk and flails for a grip, and ends up half in Purple’s lap, half clinging to the bed’s sturdy sheets. “Awk!”

White clenches her jaw tight to keep from laughing at the sight of the poor Impostor hanging on to the edge of the medical bunk as if for dear life. Purple’s looking down at him in a way that indicates blinking in confusion. She holds it together until she looks up at Purple, still holding his clipboard and pen, both slightly in the air as if he doesn’t know what to do. She cracks, hands coming to cover her visor so she can wheeze as the absurdity of the situation rolls over her.

Eventually Cyan manages to get his legs free of Purple’s lap and land on the ground. He pushes to his feet, crossing his arms a little sulkily even as White keeps laughing at the two of them. Purple shakes his head with a little chuff, and Cyan sighs dramatically.

It takes her a minute, but White manages to get her laughter under control. “Oh-ho-kay… We won’t try that again.”

“Not enough room on the bunks, really,” Purple muses. “So the solution would be…”

“Floor, I guess,” say both White and Cyan simultaneously. They glance at each other in surprise, and it’s Purple’s turn to laugh. He shakes his head to cover his chuckling, then shrugs.

“Yes, I suppose so. Let’s move a couple sheets so you’re not directly on the cold metal, at least.”

“Mmm,” White answers, sliding off the bunk and pulling up the blanket and sheets with Purple’s help. Cyan takes them and playfully shoos Purple until he’s moved the chair out of the way. Cyan lays the blankets out on the floor, and just a little bit up the side of the bunk and adjacent wall, before settling himself comfortably against the wall. White comes to join him, crouching in front of him to consider positions. “So, something that leaves my abdomen free to be scanned, but I don’t want to be poked by these teeth either…”

She lightly traces a finger around one of the teeth on his outer claspers. Cyan gasps softly, leaning in close to her. Purple moves to sit beside them, just within arm’s reach.

“W-well, you gotta get warmed up and relaxed before I can actually put it in you so… we can figure it out as we go?” He suggests, glancing at Purple as if seeking moral support.

“Sure,” White says, unused to having an observer, but she trusts Purple. She still kind of wants to pretend he’s not there and stay focused on Cyan, but that’s not quite possible. “Actually, ah, I know this is mostly about prepping me for eggs, but there is something I’m curious about…”

“Mmm?”

White grins, even though he can’t see it. Cyan’s outer claspers are open, but relaxed, not yet spread wide in invitation. His ovipositor’s head is just peeking past the teeth, and White reaches out to cup it and lift it a little. Cyan lets out a little hum of pleasure.

“Since my hands are bare, now seems like a great time for me to really get a feel for the texture of your vaginal walls, and since I have small hands, I thought the diameter of my palm might be small enough to fit all the way in…”

Purple makes a noise indicating curiosity, but otherwise stays out of the conversation for the moment. Cyan shifts as he considers the question, but really the way his ovipositor swells in White’s still hand is almost answer enough. It extends smoothly to its full length, curling around her wrist and leaving a trail of lubricant.

“You can try,” he says finally. “Your hand isn’t as big around as an ovipositor. But it’s less flexible. Maybe you could use some slick from my ovipositor too?”

“Sure, that sounds reasonable,” she says, eager to experiment. She closes her fingers around his ovipositor. “I’m assuming the natural anesthetic is there for a reason.”

“It… yeah,” Cyan shivers. “Internal muscles are really tight, so an ovipositor needs to be able to make them relax without causing damage.”

Idly, White wonders how that natural system evolved. Instead of starting a long topic of conversation, however, she gives his ovipositor a little squeeze. Purple’s writing away and will probably have made a note to ask about that at a later time. If not, she’ll remember to when reading over his observation notes. “As always, if you start getting uncomfortable-”

“I’ll tell you and we stop, yeah,” Cyan purrs, lifting himself a little to push his ovipositor against her grip. “And same for you, ‘cause now it’s both of us.”

White chuckles at that. “Yes, completely.”

She glances at Purple, who nods once, then returns her attention to the Impostor. The sight of his ovipositor, fully thick at the base and curling around her wrist makes her core muscles tighten in remembered pleasure. “Can you spread your knees all the way for me?”

Cyan nods, shifting so he’s stretched out in the impromptu nest they’ve made, letting White follow him. She massages his ovipositor with her left hand, which it’s still curled around. Cyan groans, head falling back, and White shifts, rubbing her thighs together. She’s a leftie, and her right hand isn’t as dexterous, but she’s clearly not getting the left back for a bit unless she wants to wrestle with his ovipositor over it. Which, admittedly, would probably make Cyan feel pretty great, but she has a goal in mind. She traces her fingers around his hole, lightly pinching his inner claspers between thumb and forefinger one at a time, rubbing them in little motions to try and convince them to fully emerge. Cyan moans, hips pushing up into her touch. His inner claspers coil around her fingers, covering them in slick.

She pulls her hand back, ignoring the frustrated whine, Cyan reaching up to touch her. He traces his hands -seemingly gloved- over her shoulders, then down to her breasts, kneading the flesh curiously. White redirects her right hand from its original goal, instead guiding him in the way she likes her nipples gently rolled between thumb and forefinger, and how to trace the nerves that burn the hottest. He makes a curious sound, watching the way stimulation turns her nipples darker, their tips engorging a little. There’s a change in the way he touches her that has White grabbing his hand with her free right hand.

“Eh?” Cyan pauses, his other hand lifting away. “Something wrong?”

“No, sorry, just... The texture of your glove... Or skin, I guess. It changed.”

“I… thought that it might be too rough,” he says bashfully. “Your skin is soft.”

White rubs her thumb over his palm. “It was fine, but the texture of regular gloves would be too rough inside me, though medical gloves would be fine. I certainly appreciate the concern though. Purple would you note that -Sorry Cyan- the texture he changed it to is soft and smooth. It feels like properly moisturized skin, my hands are a bit dryer...”

“That’s interesting,” Purple says, scribbling away. Cyan chuffs at them, obviously amused. Such a change from the shy, cringing creature he’d been the first time someone had laid hands on him. But then, by now, he’s very secure in the knowledge that he can trust them.

“I was trying to copy your skin texture,” Cyan admits, a tentacle peeking past his visor and curling around the hand holding his. “But it’s tricky.”

White lets him play with her hand, her skin buzzing with anticipation enough that the gentle pinpricks of his needle-sharp teeth raise goosebumps up her arm, her nipples tightening just a little. “Close enough to pass.”

The Impostor makes a pleased noise at that, freeing White’s hand as she releases his own, and returning his attention to exploring her body, hands and mouth-tentacles brushing up her sides, over her collarbones, and down her chest. His ovipositor slid off her hand during their brief conversation, and White pauses to wipe the natural lubricant from her arm down to her left hand before leaning in, first massaging her palm against his entrance, feeling how slick his outer claspers have become, and the way his inner claspers writhe into her touch. Cyan groans, hands returning to White’s breasts and kneading at them the way she showed him.

She bites her lip under her helmet, letting Cyan work on her breasts for a minute, little sparks of pleasure dancing down her spine. He’s not focusing so hard on his disguise, she realizes, feeling the texture of his skin changing to something a little more rubbery. She’s never noticed this before when he was sexually excited, but then, she was always geared and gloved before this.

“Okay, I’m going to lose all focus, let me-” White catches his hands and brings them to the ground on either side of Cyan’s body. He purrs and acquiesces to her unspoken request, keeping his hands planted on the ground so she can indulge her curiosity. She dips two fingers into his slick hole, gently thrusting them to spread the lubrication his ovipositor left on her. Cyan moans, curling upwards and hooking an arm over her shoulder, his inner muscles clenching down on her fingers.

“Huh, internal skin texture’s a bit different than I would have thought,” She comments, finding a firm little point of pressure. Cyan whines. “It’s almost like… a cat’s tongue. Softer than that, but there’s definitely little ridges or nubs that point inward.”

“Hmm, to help keep a partner’s ovipositor in place, I suppose,” Purple comments. Cyan makes an inhuman trilling noise as White strokes his inner walls.

“They’re certainly firming up the longer I do this,” White says, unable to keep her excitement out of her voice. “Feeling good?”

“Ye-ees~” Cyan folds his arm over his head, arching off the floor. His feet are firmly planted and White follows him as his pelvis lifts, making little ‘come hither’ motions with her fingers. Cyan’s bent backwards in a way that’d make a contortionist wince, and White wonders, not for the first time, if he even has a spine. White puts her right hand up on Cyan’s hip and uses it to guide him back down into the nest before she starts pumping her fingers more sharply. The Impostor moans, clawing at the blankets around them to keep his hands off her.

She leans over, pulling her fingers out of him to a little whine of frustration. She strokes up the length of his ovipositor, gathering up his slick and making twitch. Cyan moans, his biggest asset curling insistently around White’s arm, and she gently distangles it before it can get a good hold. She spreads his natural lubricants over her left hand, then pushes three fingers into his eager hole, her right hand wrapping around one of his now extended inner claspers and stroking it. The other clasper curls tight around White’s wrist, insistent that she keeps doing what she’s doing. “Still good?”

“Mnnn~!” His hips buck, so White lifts herself and plants her knees over Cyan’s thighs for stability. She rotates her hand, feeling the different walls within him. She stretches her three fingers apart, earning a gasp and shudder, a couple fanged tentacles poking past the Imposter’s visor, curling over his chest. White smiles and pulls her hand back to stroke at his ovipositor for more lube. “Nnnn, White!”

“Once I’m done exploring, you can put this ovipositor to work on me,” she tells him teasingly. She knows full well she’ll be just as, if not more, incoherent once he’s the one with hands on her. “Still feeling good?”

Cyan nods, pawing a bit at the blankets. White suspects that laying still while your partner does all the work was a foreign concept to him before he started letting her and Purple explore him. He gets so much more whiny when he can’t touch back. She wonders if that’s a cultural thing, or just a Cyan thing. The problem with small sample sizes. She moves the grip of her right hand to the other inner clasper, stroking along it’s slippery length as her left comes back to rub more of that anaesthetic slick from his ovipositor into his inner walls. He’s sounding steadily more inhuman, and she folds her four fingers together and tucks her thumb against her plam before carefully pushing into him again.

He moans, thighs somehow falling even further open, and that is definitely not a way leg joints flex for humanae. She glances at Purple, and he nods once before returning to his rapid note-taking.

Carefully, White pushes her hand into him, she manages to bury all four fingers, which she then pulls back out to the first knuckle, then slides in again. Cyan chokes, back curving. White’s fingers probe his inner walls, and she hums with interest when she manages to get her hand in as deep as her thumb.

“I think this is almost as far as I can get my hand, there’s a lot of pressure against my fingertips,” she says.

“Really?” Purple says, leaning over to take a look. “Interesting if that’s how deep something can go when his ovipositor is so huge. That is about average length for them, isn’t it?”

Cyan manages to squeak out an affirmation. “Eggs are… in the way… but it’s always too- _nhh!_ \- long.”

“Oh, that makes sense,” Purple comments. White hums, rotating her fingers and pushing a little deeper, finding what feels like a fold in his internal muscles.

“It feels like his vaginal passage sort of folds back on itself here,” White says, curious despite herself, feeling the hard press of flesh within, that she can carefully curl her fingers around as she carefully pushes in.

“Y-you’re pressing on an egg-! It’s my… uh… eggs are made there?” Cyan pants out. White immediately pulls her fingers back. “They… nh… Shift a bit…”

“Oh, so that fold might just be an egg stretching the walls of your... egg sac? Uterus?” White lightly touches the hard spot to investigate, but Cyan makes a whine that isn’t pleasure, so she desists completely, carefully pulling her hand out of him. He whimpers, but pants and flops an arm down over his genitals, covering his slick hole. The clasper White isn’t holding curls immediately around his wrist, and she releases the other, watching it also curl around it’s owner’s wrist. “Are you alright?”

“Too... much. It gets... _Smaller_ when heat,” he pants. “Muscles moving to... space-make for eggs to go through my Ovipositor easy.”

She nods, shifting her weight off his legs but staying crouched nearby. He’s struggling a little with language, which isn’t uncommon when he’s needy, but his tone is so wrecked, so she gives him a bit to settle down. “Would it be better to examine your vagina when you’re not going into heat?”

Cyan pants, laying still but for his chest rising and falling, and White wonders if he even heard her. Then he answers coherently. “Y-yeah… better then. You could probably reach up to my brood pouch then.”

Alright, _what_ is a brood pouch? He hasn’t mentioned that bit of anatomy before. She glances once at Purple, who nods to indicate that yes, of course he wrote that down to ask about. Cyan stumbled over what exactly to call the bit where his eggs are presently forming inside him, but uterus might be most correct? She puts a hand on his knee and gently massages it with her fingers as Cyan pants. Purple is scribbling away, and she wonders what he’s writing about.

“When you feel like answering…” Purple says mildy. “Your lower legs are changing color, is that a physical or psychological response?”

White looks down towards Cyan’s feet to see that above his boots, his legs have faded to an off-grey. She hums, moving her hand away from his knee. “Do you want to stop?”

“No… I’m okay,” Cyan says after a long inhale. “Feels good to have attention there but an ovipositor would squish around the eggs, your hand doesn’t.”

“Alright, I’m done with that, it was too much for you right now.”

“It was,” he agrees, still covering his hole with his hand. His claspers are curled tightly around his wrist, and his ovipositor is sluggishly curling over his stomach. White wonders, not for the first time, how much control he has over the movement of either his ovipositor or his claspers. He lifts his head, looking towards their observer. “What did you ask, again?”

“Your legs were changing color above your boots… I guess those are real boots, hm? I asked if it was a physical or psychological reaction.”

“Yes,” Cyan answers. “They’re real boots. As to the color… I dunno it was a lot so maybe… I think some instinct was trying to blend into the blankets.”

“Hm, psychological I guess,” Purple looks down at his notes. “Do you want to take a break? Water?”

“I’m okay,” Cyan says, lifting one leg to brace his foot on the floor and pulling his hand away from his groin, inner claspers letting it slide free. The off color on his legs fades away. “I’m alright now.”

“Okay,” White hums. “My turn to keep my hands on the floor, hm?”

Cyan makes a strange churring sound in his chest that White’s never heard before. He nods and pushes up to his knees, tugging at the blankets so White won’t have to lay in his wet spot. She chuckles fondly at that, pulling a pillow to prop under her ass while she lays on her back. It elevates her hips, and should hopefully mean Purple can run the ultrasound on her abdomen during penetration. Cyan’s odd churring becomes a trilling purr.

Thank god Purple’s a diligent note-taker because there’s no way White will remember all these little things later.

Cyan’s hands plant on White’s knees and he drops his head. She lifts hers just in time to see as his ovipositor coils to rest it’s middle against her mons pubis. Then it flexes, the slick surface of it sliding down between her pussy lips, and along the cleft of her ass. It makes little twitching motions, the barely-there veins and ridges on it a pleasant texture on her sensitive lower reaches. She hums encouragingly, moving a hand to lightly pet the head of the ovipositor.

A little noise of pleasure, and Cyan leans over, hands finding White’s breasts and kneading like she showed him last time. She moans in spite of herself, closing her eyes and just letting him explore and touch, her chin tilting back. There’s a slick noise that she assumes is his ovipositor moving, even as Cyan lightly thumbs her nipples, sending sparks of pleasure down White’s back.

“Mm!”

There’s movement off to the side, though she doesn’t look over at her partner. “Are you controlling your inner claspers to do that, or is it happening because your ovipositor’s slung low?”

“Kinda both,” Cyan chirps, and White wants to look, but she also just wants to lay here as he slowly works her pleasure higher. “And this way, they’ll have the slick I need to relax her muscles.”

White rolls her head to the side to lazily peek, seeing that Cyan’s inner claspers have lifted themselves and wrapped over his ovipositor, squirming just a little. Strings of slick connect claspers to ovipositor, even when they lift away, and White shivers in arousal. This is great, a fantastic idea, she’s enjoying it.

Kinda nice to just lay here, let someone else do the work, and be observed. No wonder Cyan’s usually willing to be their guinea pig.

“When you say you kind of have control, what do you mean?”

“They like to curl around things that touch them,” Cyan says, reaching down. White doesn’t lift her head to look, but feels one clasper brush the curve of her ass and it immediately starts shifting and pressing against her skin as if looking for a grip. “I can make them grip or not if I’m thinking about it. Otherwise they just do what feels good.”

“Fair enough,” says Purple. “Carry on.”

Cyan trills happily, leaning over White again. She pillows one arm under her head, finding it more comfortable. Something presses over her navel and she snorts out a surprised laugh at the touch. Cyan looks up at her. “What’s this?”

“Navel, or belly button,” She says, chuckling.

“Oh… I thought it’d be… more like a little scar,” he muses, tracing around it. White snickers at the touch, swatting his hand away. Cyan pauses. “Ticklish?”

“Yes,” she says, amused.

He clearly contemplates that a moment, then he leans over, a tentacle dangling from under his visor. White yelps and laughs, pushing his head away when she sees what he’s aiming for.

“Don’t you DARE!”

Cyan snickers, the tentacle curling around her wrist instead. Purple’s chortling at them and shaking his head. White huffs in amusement, letting Cyan keep her hand hostage as she settles back into place. He leans inwards, drawing White’s hand up under his visor, and she allows it, curious as to what he’s doing.

She sees a couple more tentacles peeking past his visor, and they curl around her fingers and hand, and then her hand is inside his helmet. White’s not sure what he’s doing at all, but he purrs contentedly, tentacles sliding over her bare hand, caressing her palm, gripping her wrist. Massaging her fingers. It feels…

“This is… oddly sensual,” White says softly, not wanting to ruin the moment. Cyan purrs a bit louder for a moment, a tentacle or tongue occasionally sliding up White’s arm into view, brushing over her triceps or flexing around her elbow. His hands massage at her arm, sliding down it, squeezing the muscles there gently. It raises goosebumps along the whole arm, and not being able to see what he’s doing to her hand, it’s… enjoyable.

It’s strange, but nice. She exhales slowly, feeling something firm brush against her knuckle and it belatedly occurs to her that her hand is probably all the way into Cyan’s mouth. He shifts closer, mindful of the fact that he’s still got her hand, and White lets out a pleased noise as his ovipositor starts rubbing between her thighs again. Cyan’s hips are just below hers, the base of his ovipositor covering her slit, and it’s coiling up her stomach and over her hip, as if lazy. It leaves her belly feeling warm and tingly. There’s slick tendrils stroking up and down the cleft of her ass, his inner claspers pushing and squirming as they instinctively seek to grip.

Slick and pulsing warmth are rubbing over her clit and labia, bringing slow pleasure. She’s torn: she wants to just lay here and let the pleasure build, but she’s also incredibly curious about his mouth. She flexes her fingers carefully, finding teeth, so many sharp, inward-pointed teeth. Brushing her fingers through the tongues coiling around them, she finds flesh-covered bone and traces the curve of his jaw from the inside.

“You have... a lot of teeth, these ones in your mouth feel like knives,” she muses aloud, for Purple’s benefit more than anything. Cyan makes an amused noise, working his jaw… jaws a little. “Oh! Split lower mandible! Not a single curving ja-ah!”

One of his inner claspers has suddenly found her ass and pushed it’s way in. The slick press of the thin and squirmy appendage in her back passage makes her arch. There’s a slight sting in the palm of her hand, and the sensation of penetration below intensifies as the other inner clasper follows it’s partner, sliding into her just as easily. They immediately start squirming against her inner walls, and White writhes against the new sensation. Cyan whines around her wrist, tongues and grasping tentacles holding it tight, tasting it, and then suddenly he pulls back, claspers dragging free. White’s hand is bared to the air again, though he immediately catches it in his hands, looking at it.

White’s a little overwhelmed by the sudden and confusing shock of sensations. But the discomfort in her hand and the way Cyan makes anxious noises brings her back. She pushes up on her other elbow, finding Purple already coming to examine the clean scratch in the meaty part of her palm.

“Jerked and cut myself on your teeth,” she realizes. It’s nothing more than a little scratch, no worse than a papercut. Cyan’s tucked everything up under his visor, and White can feel his ovipositor retracting back into him, a little reluctantly. “It’s fine, a nick.”

“I’m sorry, it’s- it’s a bonding thing- I didn’t mean to-” Cyan stammers.

“Cyan, I’m alright,” White insists, closing one eye when Purple rubs a little antiseptic on the cut to be on the safe side. “Tch. That hurt more than the cut.”

“Done now,” Purple says, releasing White’s hand. White clenches the hand into a fist, finds that the stinging has already faded, and turns back to Cyan.

“I hardly even noticed, it’s alright. Maybe we’ll save the hand and mouth thing for when there’s less chance of unexpected motion, sound good?”

Cyan hesitates before timidly taking her hand, turning it over and inspecting the mark. His thumbs brush over her hand. “Maybe this is a bad idea, I cut you last time too.”

“Neither of these scratches is any worse than when a partner digs their fingernails into you because they’re having a good time,” She tells him sternly. “If that counted as cutting me, then the claw marks I probably left on your back last time count as cutting you.”

Purple makes a noise, like he’s trying to suppress a surprised chuckle, but White’s comment has the desired effect; Cyan snickers. Purple hums. “I’d put this well below the ultrasound mishap. That one certainly wound you up for a while, but you still let us look you over after that. I’ve seen worse papercuts.”

Cyan shifts forward, bumping his head against White’s shoulder. “I’m sorry. I tasted blood and thought it did a lot of damage.”

“Just a small cut, I did myself worse in med school,” White says with humor. “Cramming for tests.”

“Huh,” Cyan releases her hand. “You’re sure?”

“I am, and besides, the best way to make us both feel better happens to be between us,” White says, a little playful and trying to draw him into sharing her mood. She looks down and brushes her fingers over his ovipositor. Cyan snickers at that, but he snuggles in close.

“That’s true…”

“I liked where you were going with your inner claspers,” she tells him. “It felt good.”

“Do you want to pick up where you left off?” Purple asks, getting up to go wash his gloves. Cyan’s momentarily distracted watching him, before turning back to White, helping her arrange herself in the same position she was in before.

“Sure,” Cyan says, leaning in to brace his hands on either side of White’s chest again, a little hesitantly. She strokes his ovipositor with her scratched hand, enjoying his little purrs of pleasure and humming as her arousal starts building up again.

“So you chew on partners’ hands socially?” she teases. Cyan makes an embarrassed chuff as Purple chuckles, returning with clean gloves.

“That’s not- it’s _grooming,_ ” he squeaks out.

“Oh, I see,” White says, coaxing Cyan’s ovipositor back to full arousal with her hand. He groans, one hand coming to rest on her breast. “Is that why you’re always playing with our hands?”

Cyan mumbles, a little embarrassed even as his ovipositor pulses in White’s hand. She thinks his grooming behaviour is sweet, actually; He takes part in their social bonding rituals, and to try and include them in his native ones does show how close he feels to them. White smiles, petting the hand on her chest with her fingertips. She lightly taps her helmet to his head, and Cyan relaxes into it with a purr, turning his hand over so she’s stroking his palm.

He grasps his ovipositor near the base, bringing the main shaft back to rubbing at her labia, then his hand shifts lower, and after a slick noise, White feels those squirmy inner claspers pushing into her ass again. She lets out a little hum, rocking her hips slowly as the claspers writhe inside her, stretching out her back passage.

“Good?” Cyan asks, voice a little stilted. His ovipositor is squirming against White’s hand, and she gives it a good squeeze, feeling it compress. He moans, clear lubricants dripping out of the tip over her abdomen. Absently, she smears a little around with her right hand while squirming to try and get that stimulation to her clit again.

“Mmm, yeah,” she says dreamily. “Really good.”

Cyan purrs in response to that, leaning over her a bit more heavily, and that pushes his ovipositor against her clit like she wants. The little pulses it makes as it pushes lubricants through the length of itself are wonderfully stimulating.

“This must look absurd,” White says with a little chuckle, letting her head fall back as Cyan nuzzles up under her chin, tentacles curling around her neck, caressing her pulse. “I’m naked except for my helmet, Cyan looks fully dressed.”

Cyan makes a little snickering noise, and there’s a chuckle from Purple.

“A little,” He says. “It doesn’t seem to be hindering either of you though.”

“Hmmm, no, I guess not,” White murmurs, shivering as Cyan nestles against her, still stroking her neck with his mouth-tentacles. She wraps an arm around his back, making a confused noise when it feels like something’s missing. “Okay, I know the O2 tank is fake but where’d… whatever you use to make it go?”

“Eh-hehe?” Cyan doesn’t move from the comfortable embrace. He’s actually a bit lighter than White would’ve thought, come to think of it. Noticeably cooler to touch too, though his ovipositor is warmer than either of their skin.

“My whole purpose here at the moment is to watch you both and I missed what happened to that…” Purple sighs. Cyan makes a flanged snickering sound, nuzzling at White’s neck. She lifts her hips, rolling them against his ovipositor and thighs, humming when one of the teeth on his outer claspers brushes her skin, but it’s not quite as sharp as it looks.

Not too surprising, she supposes, considering she’s never torn a glove on them. Though she’d prefer he doesn’t press against her with those pointed tips. She’s become accustomed to the gentle squirming in her ass, but when his inner claspers suddenly pull free, she notices. They weren’t too intense, and she’d adjusted to the sensation and was enjoying it. Cyan lifts himself a little, and she looks down, realizing he’s stroking more slick off his ovipositor down to his inner claspers. Probably smart.

She brushes her left hand down his arm, right gripping his hip. As she strokes his forearm her fingers catch on what feels like a small split on his suit. She lightly rubs it with her finger, attracted to the change in texture. The seam parts, and she startles out of her comfortable haze.

Cyan shifts his arm, and the seam vanishes. White strokes the area, but can’t find it again.

“Huh,” She muses. Cyan clucks softly. “What was that?”

“Arm,” he answers in that tone he assumes when trying to not be shifty, but also wanting to avoid a direct question. White decides to leave it for another time.

“Mmalright,” she murmurs, tugging his hip as he repositions, his fingers curving over her ass and inwards towards her relaxed back passage.

“What was what?” Purple asks, curiosity in his voice.

“It just looked like there was a split in his suit, but it closed up,” White answers as Cyan huffs against her shoulder. She can feel his breath brushing over her bare skin when he’s snuggled in close like this.

“S’just my arm,” The Impostor mumbles. White nods, rubbing her hand down his back as it occurs to her that she doesn’t actually know many of his erogenous zones other than, well, his genitals. He hasn’t tried encouraging her to touch anywhere else though, maybe he doesn’t have other erogenous zones?

At least ones he feels comfortable revealing. She considers for a moment before Cyan lifts himself to crouching on the nest between her spread thighs. He braces his knees on her thighs, leaving space between their bodies.

“I think I can put it in,” he says, looking down. White nods, propping herself up on her elbows as Cyan rubs up her thigh. He grasps his ovipositor just behind it’s head, squeezing it tightly in his hand as he brings it to her ass. White takes a deep breath and lets it all out, willing her body to relax, feeling that wide blunt head pressing forward, the little nubs trimming it flexing and curling inward against her skin.

“Mhh… nice and slow,” she says with a little gasp. “Purple you have the wand, uh… ready, right?”

“It’s right here,” assures her partner. “Do you want me to start it now?”

“Yeah,” she says, a little distracted as the Ovipositor squirms in it’s master’s grip. She didn’t realize it could compress THAT much, it doesn’t seem to hurt him to have it clenched so tightly. It makes sense that it can fit if it compresses so well, though when it comes time for eggs, it might be a different story.

“Okay, I think the gel’s warm now, but don’t be too surprised if it isn’t,” Purple warns, and White sees his arm moving in, holding the ultrasound wand. Cyan leans back slightly, giving Purple space to work, though he stays focused on what he’s doing, not the assistant medic.

The Gel is… well it’s not warm, but it’s not icy, so White merely glances down as Purple focuses on positioning the ultrasound wand, watching the viewscreen so he knows what the best position is. Cyan makes a little noise.

“Is it turned on?” The Impostor asks.

“Yes,” Purple answers. “Is it bothering you?”

“No… not right now…” Cyan looks up at White, a couple of his facial tentacles curling. “Ready?”

“I am,” she says, tapping her heel against his backside to make him move. Cyan nuzzles against her helmet as he slackens his grip on his ovipositor, letting it squirm forward. White gasps, feeling pressure and heat.

“Ooh… okay,” she gasps, then manages to suck in a breath, reminding herself to actually get air, not just pant helplessly. That’s… very big, and it’s pushing in _very_ deep. Fuck, she didn’t realize she could actually feel that deeply. “Okay… uhm… h-how much are you going to-”

Cyan’s one arm is braced under her arm, the other hand squeezes his ovipositor again. “D-does it hurt?”

“N-no, it’s just, a lot… no more,” White says, putting a hand over her stomach. Okay, it’s definitely swollen around the muscular length within. Wow that’s...

It feels like it should hurt, but all there is is slickness, pressure and heat. Cyan nuzzles against her neck, knees braced against the inside of her thighs, ovipositor squirming rhythmically, no longer trying to push forward. White lifts her hips a little, then settles, wanting to grip at Cyan for stability, but knowing it’ll get in the way of the ultrasound. It’s hard to think about that, her thoughts getting harder and harder to piece together. She grips at the nest around them with one hand, the other trying to find it’s way past Purple’s arm without jolting him.

The bastard is paying attention to the ultrasound screen and muttering to himself and she would be in awe of his focus if she had the brainpower for that.

“-Not quite changing shape, it’s more flexing, interesting though, it must need pressure along the length of the head- is the ultrasound bothering you?”

Cyan doesn’t answer, entirely possible that he didn’t hear Purple’s question. White sort of heard it, but she can’t be bothered to try to understand it. She switches hands, and now that the one that isn’t on Purple’s side is reaching down, it succeeds.

“Nngh!” Oh that’s good, yes. She can slide her palm over her clit and curl her fingers into her aching cunt and it tips everything from _intense_ to _intensely good_. She tries to lift her hips, but Cyan’s still braced over her thighs, one hand braced on her hip, the other kneading her breast. White’s vaguely aware of the ultrasound wand - somehow it’s still cold, but honestly, she’s too warm, it’s good, it’s all good.

“White, how are you feeling?”

“Ngh! G-great. Yeah.” She curls upwards, trying to grasp at Cyan’s shoulder, and it takes her a moment to realize Purple’s extricating his arm and the ultrasound from between them, but that doesn’t matter, she just wants to chase that rolling pleasure until-

This time she hears her own gasping. Cyan whines and presses against the side of her helmet, his Ovipositor flexing hard inside her, she can feel muscular contractions and liquid heat and it just drives her orgasm higher. Her fingers flex and shudder against her skin and she pants, feeling Cyan settling his weight over her torso.

She breathes deep, tilting her head back and closing her eyes to recenter as shivers run through her body. She takes stock and feels no pain, just fullness. There are tendrils caressing her collar and up her neck and she smiles idly at that, turning her head to look at the Impostor. Cyan notices her looking and trills at her. It occurs to her that he was using words under the loud trilling purr, but they were in his language, so she doesn’t try responding.

“Cyan, White, you’re both good?” Purple asks. White lifts one hand to give him a thumbs up before letting it drop back down to just enjoy the endorphins for a bit. “Cyan, what are you doing?”

His tone is humorous, so White doesn’t look up. She can feel sharp teeth brushing her shoulder, tentacles leaving slick little trails over her skin. Grooming again, she assumes. The facial tentacles always seem to come out after Cyan’s climaxed, that’s cute.

Actually, hey, they should write that down…. Meh, Purple’s the one taking notes, he can handle it. She’s gonna lay here and Let Cyan do his cuddle thing.

Tentacles curl over her neck and she lets out a ticklish snicker, feeling the sharp gripping teeth on them brushing her skin. Cyan lifts himself a little and White suddenly remembers the ovipositor in her ass. She props herself up on her elbows and looks down and lets out a little ‘huh’.

“Did you manage to get… a whole foot of it in?”

“Uh,” Cyan looks down to take stock himself. “Yeah.”

“It was a bit further, but he pulled it back when you said it was too much,” Purple informs them both, coming to crouch beside them again, holding two glasses of water. White lets out a chuckle, but accepts one, bringing the straw up under her helmet to sip at. Cyan needs to curl his tentacles tightly to use a straw, and it’s always funny to watch. “It was very interesting to see, it acts quite differently inside a body than it does when being stimulated digitally.”

“Huh,” says White with interest. Cyan makes a clicking sound in the back of his throat that White’s learned to interpret as thoughtful. He hums, pulling back until his ovipositor starts pulling free of White, making her gasp as the pressure within lessens. “Oh fffu-”

She catches herself and just lays back in the nest, letting Cyan pull free. Once his Ovipositor’s out, he settles back down on top of her, purring away. She chuckles and slings an arm around his back to indulge his desire to cuddle. She’s a sweaty mess, there is clear slick dripping from her and that’s kind of uncomfortable, but it can wait a bit. She could use the gentle comedown herself. Purple’s writing on his notepad again, and White kind of wants to see, and kind of wants to just lay here and doze off. Cyan’s breathing has evened out, is he falling asleep?

He starts petting her leg, so no, not asleep. White chuckles and pats his back fondly. She feels something shift under her hand and tries to look, but sees noth-

Oh, another ‘seam,’ interesting. She lightly slides her finger over it, causing it to part further, but then Cyan shifts, the Seam pulling away from her then pressing down against his back and vanishing again. White hums with interest, but lets him keep his secret, settling back down again and letting him settle his weight over her.

She rests for a bit, but when Purple walks back to them, his gloves freshly cleaned and a blanket it in hand, White sighs and gives Cyan a little push on the shoulder. “I’m going to get chilled if I stay like this too long, Cyan.”

“Mmm,” He lifts his weight off her and flops back into the nest, one arm dropping over his back in a way that’s be extremely uncomfortable if he was jointed the way humanae are. White chuckles, carefully pushing to her feet-oop, nevermind, she’s back in the nest.

“Are you alright?” asks Purple, clearly trying to suppress a laugh. White holds up her hand to him.

“Fine, legs are wobbly.”

“Ah, here” He helps her up and sits her on the bunk. “I’ll put a stool in the shower.”

“Thanks.”

She looks down at Cyan, who has rolled over, causing his ovipositor to be wrapped around his thigh and under him. His inner claspers have tucked away, but everything down there is visibly slick and still dripping down, nevermind the shiny mess over his thighs. She chuckles. “We both need a good clean up, hmm?”

“The water’s nice and warm, not icy,” Cyan answers cheerfully. “Or boiling hot. So that’s okay.”

“Says the guy who had a nap in the meat freezer once,” Purple teases.

“That’s not cold,” Cyan protests. White snickers and shakes her head, watching as Purple brings a stool to the decontamination shower before coming to her. White pushes to her feet and finds her legs working, so she heads in to clean up. “It’s not! It’s not that far below freezing.”

“Just how cold-adept are you?” White chuckles.

“More than you, apparently,” Cyan answers, sitting up in his nest. “But then, that’s why you wear clothes.”

“Hah.”

* * *

Showered and dried, Cyan lingers to help them clean and reorder the medbay. He bundles all the dirtied sheets and blankets into a basket and heads for laundry, humming something with both voiceboxes, effectively harmonizing with himself. White chuckles at him, adjusting the seal on her envirosuit.

“Ready to look at the ultrasound recording?” Purple asks.

“Not quite yet,” she answers, stretching her arms. “I am very interested, but can I see your notes first? When I mentioned that… hmm… seam on his arm. I noticed another on his back later. If I had to guess, I think it’s additional tentacles.”

“Ah! Maybe his arms are tentacles he’s just woven together,” Purple muses with interest, handing over the clipboard. White flips through it until she finds the page she’s looking for, and adds her own writing to Purple’s meticulous notes.

“I’m still not sure where the O2 tank goes, or what he uses to make that full structure,” White comments. “But hopefully he’ll tell us someday. I can’t blame him for being cautious about what he reveals, though.”

“Mmm, well, we’re three months out from Polus, hopefully the crew we’re joining will be amiable to what we have to say…”

“They’ve had no problems at their location, from what Yellow’s managed to pick up in communications with their Captain. If none of them have direct experience with Impostors, it might go more smoothly,” White says thoughtfully. She sits down and immediately her body reminds her she just had a foot of muscular tube inside her. “Oh… oof, pass a muscle relaxant, please.”

Purple snickers at her, but he also brings her the medicine.


End file.
